155. ‘Non fur ma’ Giove et Cesare sí mossi,’

Jupiter and Caesar were never so moved,

the one to thunder, the other to war,

that Pity would not have quenched their anger,

and made them both lay down their weapons.

My lady wept: my lord wished me to go

and look on her, and hear her lament,

filling me with sadness and desire,

searching my very bones to the marrow.

Love painted that sweet weeping for me,

or sculpted it rather, engraved her gentle words

on a diamond at the centre of my heart:

where with his strong and ingenious keys

he often returns still to unlock

rare tears, and long and heavy sighs.