O lover dear, with whom well pleased was I
Whilere past all that be,—
Who now before Him sittest in the sky
Who fashioned us,—have pity upon me
Who cannot, though I die,
Forget thee for another; cause me see
The flame that kindled thee
For me lives yet unquenched
And my recall up thither impetrate.
At the end of the fourth day Filostrato sang: