He that is sad agrees
Easily with the sad, as thou must know;
Come hither, here one flees,
Beside this clear spring's flow,
The sun's bright rays that high in heaven glow.
Come and thyself defend,
As is thy custom, raise thy wonted strain,
Against each sorrowing friend.
For each doth strive amain
To show that his alone is truly pain.
I only in the strife
Must needs opponent be to each and all,
The sorrow of my life
I can indeed extol,
But cannot give expression to the whole.
ORFENIO.
The luscious grassy sward
Is not unto the hungry lamb so sweet,
Nor health once more restored
Doth he so gladly greet
Who had already held its loss complete,
As pleasant 'tis for me
In the contest that is at hand to show
That the cruel misery
My suffering heart doth know
Is far above the greatest here below.
Orompo, speak no word
Of thy great ill, Crisio, thy grief contain,
Let naught from thee be heard,
Marsilio; death, disdain,
Absence, seek not to rival jealous pain.
But if Heaven so desires
That we to-day should seek the battle-field,
Begin, whoso aspires,
And of his sorrow yield
Token with all the skill his tongue can wield.
A truthful history
In the pure truth doth find its resting-place.
For it can never be,
That elegance and grace
Of speech can form its substance and its base.