Just as in pen and ink
There is a high, low, and medium style,
And in marble are images rich and vile,

According to the art with which we fashion it,
So, my dear lord, in your heart,
Along with pride, are perhaps some humble thoughts:

But I draw thence only what is proper for myself
In accordance with what my features show.
Who sows sighs, tears and lamentations?

(Dew from heaven on earth, pure and simple,
Converts itself differently to varied seeds)
Will reap and gather tears and sorrow;

He who gazes upon exalted beauty with such pain
Will have doubtful hopes and bitter, certain sorrows.