Or if thou heedest what those friars teach,
    I cannot fail, lady, to call thee fool: 
  Well may they blame our private sins and preach;
    But ill their acts match with their spoken rule;
  The same pitch clings to all men, one and each. 
    There, I have spoken:  set the world to school
  With this true proverb, too, be well acquainted
  The devil’s ne’er so black as he is painted.

  Nor did our good Lord give such grace to thee
    That thou shouldst keep it buried in thy breast,
  But to reward thy servant’s constancy,
    Whose love and loyal faith thou hast repressed: 
  Think it no sin to be some trifle free,
    Because thou livest at a lord’s behest;
  For if he take enough to feed his fill,
  To cast the rest away were surely ill.

  They find most favour in the sight of heaven
    Who to the poor and hungry are most kind;
  A hundred-fold shall thus to thee be given
    By God, who loves the free and generous mind;
  Thrice strike thy breast, with pure contrition riven,
    Crying:  I sinned; my sin hath made me blind!—­
  He wants not much:  enough if he be able
  To pick up crumbs that fall beneath thy table.

  Wherefore, O lady, break the ice at length;
    Make thou, too, trial of love’s fruits and flowers: 
  When in thine arms thou feel’st thy lover’s strength,
    Thou wilt repent of all these wasted hours;
  Husbands, they know not love, its breadth and length,
    Seeing their hearts are not on fire like ours: 
  Things longed for give most pleasure; this I tell thee: 
  If still thou doubtest let the proof compel thee.

  What I have spoken is pure gospel sooth;
   I have told all my mind, withholding nought: 
  And well, I ween, thou canst unhusk the truth,
   And through the riddle read the hidden thought: 
  Perchance if heaven still smile upon my youth,
   Some good effect for me may yet be wrought: 
  Then fare thee well; too many words offend: 
  She who is wise is quick to comprehend.

The levity of these love-declarations and the fluency of their vows show them to be ‘false as dicers’ oaths,’ mere verses of the moment, made to please a facile mistress.  One long poem, which cannot be styled a Rispetto, but is rather a Canzone of the legitimate type, stands out with distinctness from the rest of Poliziano’s love-verses.  It was written by him for Giuliano de’ Medici, in praise of the fair Simonetta.  The following version attempts to repeat its metrical effects in some measure:—­

  My task it is, since thus Love wills, who strains
    And forces all the world beneath his sway,
    In lowly verse to say
  The great delight that in my bosom reigns. 
  For if perchance I took but little pains
    To tell some part of all the joy I find,
    I might be deem’d unkind
  By one who knew my heart’s deep