you my faith that you will find this to be so. Alas! where has this one, in order to compass my ruin, discovered that already there is rumour and talk of our love? Truly she must have imagined it. Saving her reverence, it is not possible, for naught was ever conducted more prudently or secretly than, up to this present, our sweet love has been, and alway will be if God wills. For God knows that I would rather suffer death than do aught that would cause you dishonour. Ah, my Lady, my Lady! Shall I never see you again? If this must be so, God grant that I may lose my sight, and that I may never again look on anything, for naught beside could delight me. How could my heart dure and remain alive when it no longer has the joy the which it receives when it is nigh unto yours? Ah, woe is me! This thought, alas, is a lance which pierces right through my sorrowful heart. It cannot be that I must thus lose, and without cause, the tender comfort, the amorous delights, the pleasing glances, and the winsome words, the which I receive from you, and of which the sweet remembrance, which remained in my thoughts with the hope of their renewal, made
