NISIDA.
Against his view am I, whoso doth swear
That never did Love's happiness attain
Unto the height attained by his cruel pain,
Though fortune wait on bliss with tenderest care.
I know what bliss is, what misfortune drear,
And what they do I know full well; 'tis plain
That bliss the more builds up the thought again,
The more Love's sorrow doth its strength impair.
I saw myself by bitter death embraced,
When I was ill-informed by tidings ill;
To the rude corsairs I became a prey.
Cruel was the anguish, bitter was the taste
Of sorrow, yet I know and prove that still
Greater the joy is of this glad to-day.
Galatea and Florisa were filled with wonder at the exquisite voice of the fair Nisida, who, as it seemed to her that Timbrio and those of his party had for the time taken the lead in singing, did not wish her sister to be without doing it; and so, without much pressing, with no less grace than Nisida, beckoning to Orfenio to play his flute, to its sound she sang in this wise:
BLANCA.
Just as if I in sandy Libya were
Or in far frozen Scythia, I beheld
Myself at times by glowing fire assailed
That never cools, at times by chilly fear.
But hope, that makes our sorrow disappear,
Although such different semblances it bore,
Kept my life safe, well-guarded by its power,
When it was strong, when it was weak and drear,