Earnest words, frivolities,
Gazing eyes and ardent pen
Of the lover, blind and vain,—
Take a countless sum of these,
And the last is ever first;
Whoso hath in love surpassed,
As the first loved, e'en at last
Is by her disdain accursed.
How much fairer would we deem
Our Silena's beauteous grace,
If her wisdom and her ways
Did her fairness but beseem!
She discretion hath at will,
But a halter 'tis to slay
The presumption of her way,
For she useth it so ill.
I speak not with shameless tongue,
For it were but passion wild,
But I speak as one beguiled,
Who hath suffered grievous wrong;
Passion doth no more me blind,
Nor desire that she should wrong
Suffer, for always my tongue
Was in reason's bonds confined.
Her caprices manifold,
And her moods that ever change,
From her every hour estrange
Those who were her friends of old;
Since Silena foes hath made
In the many ways we see,
Wholly good she cannot be,
Or they must be wholly bad.
Lauso ended his song, and though he thought that no one understood him, through ignorance of Silena's disguised name, more than three of those who were there knew her, and even marvelled that Lauso's modest behaviour should have gone so far as to attack anyone, especially the disguised shepherdess with whom they had seen him so much in love. But in the opinion of his friend Damon he was fully excused, for he was acquainted with Silena's conduct, and knew how she had conducted herself towards Lauso, and wondered at what he left unsaid. Lauso finished, as has been said; and as Galatea had heard of the charm of Nisida's voice, she wished to sing first, so as to constrain her to do the same. And for this reason, before any other shepherd could begin, beckoning to Arsindo to continue sounding his flute, to its sound with her exquisite voice she sang in this wise:
GALATEA.
E'en as Love ever seeks the soul to entame,
Tempting it by the semblance of delight,
E'en so she from Love's deadly pangs in flight
Turneth, who knows its name bestowed by fame.
The breast that doth oppose his amorous flame,
The breast with honourable resistance armed,
By Love's unkindness is but little harmed,
Little his fire and rigour doth inflame.
Secure is she who never was beloved,
Nor could love, from that tongue which in dispraise
Of her honour, with subtle glow doth gleam.
But if to love and not to love have proved
Fruitful in harm, how shall she spend her days
Who honour dearer e'en than life doth deem?