101. ‘Lasso, ben so che dolorose prede’

Alas, I well know that he who pardons

no one, will make us his sad prey,

and that the world abandons us readily,

and keeps faith with us only a little while:

I see small thanks for all my languishing,

already the last day thunders in my heart:

and through all this Love will not release me,

asking the usual tribute from my eyes.

I know how the days, the minutes and the hours,

carry off the years: and there’s no trickery,

only forces greater than any magic art.

My passion and my reason have fought

for fourteen years: and the better one will win,

if souls down here can foresee the good.