Pi' Volte Gi' Dal Bel Sembiante Umano. Love Unmans His Resolution. Oft As Her Angel Face Compassion Wore, With Tears Whose Eloquence Scarce Fails To Move, With Bland And Courteous Speech, I Boldly Strove To Soothe My Foe, And In Meek Guise Implore: But Soon Her Eyes Inspire Vain Hopes No More; For All My Fortune, All My Fate In Love, My Life, My Death, The Good, The Ills I Prove, To Her Are Trusted By One Sovereign Power. Hence 'Tis, WheNe'er My Lips Would Silence Break, Scarce Can I Hear The Accents Which I Vent, By Passion Render'D Spiritless And Weak. Ah! Now I Find That Fondness To Excess Fetters The Tongue, And Overpowers Intent: Faint Is The Flame That Language Can Express! Nott. Oft Have I Meant My Passion To Declare, When Fancy Read Compliance In Her Eyes; And Oft With Courteous Speech, With Love-Lorn Sighs, Have Wish'D To Soften My Obdurate Fair: But Let That Face One Look Of Anger Wear, The Intention Fades; For All That Fate Supplies, Or Good, Or Ill, All, All That I Can Prize, My Life, My Death, Love Trusts To Her Dear Care. E'En I Can Scarcely Hear My Amorous Moan, So Much My Voice By Passion Is Confined; So Faint, So Timid Are My Accents Grown! Ah! Now The Force Of Love I Plainly See; What Can The Tongue, Or What The Impassion'D Mind? He That Could Speak His Love, Ne'er Loved Like Me. Anon. 1777.