I have more than a thousand songs by heart.
Perhaps you would like:--'This my little covert, make I ne'er it overt';
or:--'Gently, gently, husband mine'; or:--'A hundred pounds were none too
high a price for me a cock to buy.'" The queen now shewed some offence,
though the other ladies laughed, and:--"A truce to thy jesting, Dioneo,"
said she, "and give us a proper song: else thou mayst prove the quality
of my ire." Whereupon Dioneo forthwith ceased his fooling, and sang on
this wise:--
So ravishing a light
Doth from the fair eyes of my mistress move
As keeps me slave to her and thee, O Love.
A beam from those bright orbs did radiate
That flame that through mine own eyes to my breast
Did whilom entrance gain.
Thy majesty, O Love, thy might, how great
They be, 'twas her fair face did manifest:
Whereon to brood still fain,
I felt thee take and chain
Each sense, my soul enthralling on such wise
That she alone henceforth evokes my sighs.
Wherefore, O dear my Lord, myself I own
Thy slave, and, all obedience, wait and yearn,
Till thy might me console.
Yet wot I not if it be throughly known
How noble is the flame wherewith I burn,
My loyalty how whole
To her that doth control
Ev'n in such sort my mind that shall I none,
Nor would I, peace receive, save hers alone.
And so I pray thee, sweet my Lord, that thou
Give her to feel thy fire, and shew her plain
How grievous my disease.
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