ure. That the
style of the restoration is thoroughly Michael Angelesque, will be
admitted by all students of Signor Guasti's edition. The only word I
felt inclined to question, is _donne_ in line 13, where I should have
expected _donna_. But I am informed that about this word there is no
doubt. The sonnet itself ranks among the less interesting and the least
finished compositions of the poet's old age.

Thrice blest was I what time thy piercing dart
I could withstand and conquer in days past:
But now my breast with grief is overcast;
Against my will I weep, and suffer smart.
And if those shafts, aimed with so fierce an art,
The mark of my frail bosom over-passed,
Now canst thou take revenge with blows at last
From those fair eyes which must consume my heart.
O Love, how many a net, how many a snare
Shuns through long years the bird by fate malign,
Only at last to die more piteously!
Thus love hath let me run as free as air,
Ladies, through many a year, to make me pine
In sad old age, and a worse death to die.

APPENDIX III.

The following translations of a madrigal, a quatrain, and a stanza by
Michael Angelo, may be worth insertion here for the additional light
they throw upon some of the preceding sonnets--especially upon Sonnets
I. and II. and Sonnets LXV.-LXXVII. In my version of the stanza I have
followed Michelangelo the younger's readings.

_DIALOGUE OF FLORENCE AND HER EXILES._

_Per molti, donna._

'Lady, for joy of lovers numberless
Thou wast created fair as angels are.
Sure God hath fallen asleep in heaven afar,
When one man calls the bliss of many his!
Give back to streaming eyes
The daylight of thy face that seems to shun
Those who must live defrauded of their bliss!'
'Vex not your pure desire with tears and sighs:
For he who robs you of my light, hath none.
Dwelling in fear, sin hath no happiness;
Since amid those who love, their joy is less,
Whose great desire great plenty still curtails,
Than theirs who, poor, have hope that never fails.'

_THE SPEECH OF NIGHT._

_Caro m' e'l sonno._

Sweet is my sleep, but more to be mere stone,
So long as ruin and dishonour reign;
To bear nought, to feel nought, is my great gain;
Then wake me not, speak in an undertone!

LAMENT FOR LIFE WASTED.

_Ohime, ohime_!