Page:Sonnets and Ballate of Guido Cavalcanti.djvu/143

 Me cry on Death for ease, While Death doth point me on toward all mischance.

And I can cry for Grief so heavily As hath man never, For Grief drags to my heart a heart so sore With wandering speech of her, who cruelly Outwearieth me ever…. O Mistress, spoiler of my valour’s store! Accursed by the hour when Amor Was born in such a wise That my life in his eyes Grew matter of pleasure and acceptable!