Sonnet XXXI

To what purpose do I express my intense desire

with tears and sorrowful words

when heaven, which clothes my soul,

neither sooner or later relieves me of it?

To what purpose does my weary heart long to die,

when all must die? So to these

eyes my last hour will be less painful,

all my joy being less than all my pains.

If I cannot avoid the blow,

even seek them; since it is destined,

who will stand between sweetness and sorrow?

If I must be conquered in order to be happy,

no wonder then that I, unarmed and alone,

remain the prisoner of an armed Cavalier?