For in her more than in other arms my breast had its accustomed pity, which makes it wise; so for her, with suspicion and with deceit, I often fled the longed-for bed.
O quante volte, al mio dolce ricetto, fuggendo altrui e me stesso e ’l mio affanno, di lagrime ancor bagno l’erba e ’l panno, per tema più che per qualche dispetto. o quante volte pdf
Ma poi ch’Amor di me fece signore, né povertà né morte mi sbigottisce; anzi servaggio e morte in pregio pone. For in her more than in other arms
Oh how many times, to my sweet refuge, fleeing others and myself and my anguish, I still wet the grass and cloth with tears, more from fear than from any displeasure. Oh how many times, to my sweet refuge,
It seems you are asking about the content of the PDF for the poem (often the first line of a sonnet or a lyric poem, possibly by Petrarch or from the Canzoniere ).
Così del mio languir spesso mi giove, e ’l mio duro martir tanto gradiscе ch’altro ben che ’l morir nulla mi piace.