Monteverdi's Fourth Book of Madrigals
Oh Mirtillo – Mirtillo my very breath!
If you could only glimpse the heart
Of her you call ‘cruellest Amarilli’;
Instead of craving her compassion,
You yourself would weep.
We souls in love; we two miserable souls!
For you, what pleasure can there be in being so loved?
What pleasure’s there for me to have so dear a lover?
Oh Destiny, why break
What Love has built?
And you, malicious Love, why build
Knowing too well that Destiny will destroy?
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