Leave me, I pray, to wait Aloysius.
Why comes he not?... Ah, and why do you rend me?
For you would not indeed to Rizzio
Add demon doubts ...
Of me who am to him there in the night
Sun, moon and the white galaxy of stars
Such as not even Messer Bruno dreams....
For, if you would, are you indeed Bianca
Who, as a child, sang with me under the olives
And cypresses; or watched with wonder eyes