An angel's voice come warbling in my ear!)
Not distant far, within a garden fair,
The sweet Artesia sang unto her lute,
Her voice charmed Cupid, and perfumed the air,
Made beasts stand still, and birds for to be mute.
Her voice and beauty proved so sad a ditty;
Who saw, was blind! who heard, soon sued for pity!
This Lady was no virgin like the rest,
Yet near allied. By Florence city dwelling