I. I do not go about without my plane and my file with which I fabricate words and plane and file them; for I see no subtle and delicate work of any sort which is subtler and more delicate than mine, nor a more skillful worker in precious rimes nor anyone who dissects more his words nor who rimes them better than I do. But I am so in the stress of Love that struggling avails me nought, however much I struggle.
II. If of his grace Love should make the Fair One who heeds not my prayers heed me, so that she should deign to accept me as her servant, he would do exceedingly well. She errs since she does not accept me. I know not why she slays me and wishes to deceive me; for I am of good faith toward her when she deceives me most. She has no mercy in her, unless she borrow some; but she trusts in pride, so that she cares not to borrow any.
III. In sooth she is void of love and deprived of mercy. Alas! Why do I weep? Because she has deprived me of joy, in that she helps me not, but on the contrary departs and takes herself away
from me, since she wills that I depart and betake myself otherwhere. She has no fear, neither does she tremble at all from the pain which makes me shudder and tremble; wherefore my woe is greater and I seem to burn the more, because she does not burn at all with the passion which burns me.
IV. So softly she comes to wound and pierce me that I do not feel it, nor do I know with what she pierces me. Then without ointment she can cure and anoint me, with a loving look. Behold with what she anoints me, in such a way that she joins my reason and my will. I find them both animated by one desire which binds and joins them, wherefore I come running toward her from whom I depart. She makes such smooth promises and makes one depart from further away (brings one back from a distance).
V. Without eating, Lady, you could feed me with a gracious speech, since the courteous word feeds me. But by your reserve you turn me to wrath, wherefore no one should blame me even if I am wroth. I even lose my fat on that account, for I should be fatter. Flesh and fat forsake me for no other reason. And if pity be not born in you with my prayer, better were it, methinks, that you were still unborn.
VI. Lady Emilia, whom joy feeds, knows well how to feed the eyes of those who look upon her, with a sweet look and with honorable entreaties, for she holds dear honor and worth, which is reborn with her, and she maintains lady-service and resurrects it when dead.
