Let not thy thoughts lie buried in thy breast;
But let thy tongue, thy discontents disclose!
For "who conceals his pain when he is grieved,
May well be pitied, but no way relieved."
L.
Wretched is he that loving, sets his heart
On her, whose love, from pure affection swerveth;
Ne amor ne signoria vuole compagnia.
Who doth permit each one to have a part
Of that, which none but he alone deserveth.