My lady Renzuola

My lady Renzuola,

Take the pitcher,

Come to the fountain,

For great is the delight

To stand waiting for the water to spurt out

Among the idyllic peasants

That mingle there....

Who knows -- you may not feel

That I have pains in my heart,

Seeing and listening to talk of love...

No other hope makes me live any more!

Leave your mirror,

Come in your petticoat,

Your tresses loosed,

Without a trace of ornament;

You will see to how many other delights

The simple life of the fields invites us,

And... who knows?