Suspend, singer swan, the sweet strain: see how the lord that Delphi sees exchanges for you the gentle lyre for pipe and to Admetus makes a pastoral sound. As gentle song, though strong, moved stones and tamed the wrath of hell, so it retreats, abashed, when you are heard: your instrument blames the church itself. For though the works of ancient builders cannot match its columns, nothing's greater than your song when your clear voice strikes its stones, and your sweet tones surpass it, dwarf it, while making it grow the more.
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz - 1651-1695
Since I'm Condemned
Since I'm condemned to death by your decree, Fabio, and don't appeal, resist or flee the wrathful judgment, hear me, for there's no culprit of such guilt should be refused confession. Because, you say, you've been informed my breast has caused offence to you, I stand condemned, ferocious one. Does uncertain news, not fact, achieve more in your obdurate breast than experience of so many truths? If you've believed in others', Fabio, why not believe in your own eyes? Why, reversing the sense of Law, deliver to the rope my neck? You're as liberal with your rigours as meanly strict with favours. If I have looked at other eyes, Fabio, kill me with your wrathful eyes. If I serve another care, let your implacable anger serve me. And if another's love diverts me, you, who've been my life, strike me dead. If I have viewed another with delight, never be delight in our mutual looks; if with another I engaged in pleasant speech, let your eternal displeasure point at me. And if another love disturbs my sense, chase out of me my soul, who've been my soul. But as I die without resisting my unhappy lot, my only wish is you allow me choose the death I like. Let my death be of my choice, for your mere choice continues me in life. Let me not die of harshness, Fabio, when I can die of love. That will do you credit, redeem me, since to die for love, not for guilt, is no less a death, but more an honoured one. And now, finally, I seek your pardon for all the wrongs I did to you through love. Wrongs they are and they deserve your scorn. Your offence is just in my accosting you, because by loving you I turn you to ingratitude.