.O cessate di piagarmi
O lasciatemi morir>Luci ingrate
Dispietate
Più del gelo e più de' marmi
Fredde e sorde a' miei martir>
Più d'un angue, più d'un aspe
Crudi e sordi a' miei sospir>
Occhi alteri ciechi e fieri
Voi potete risanarmi
E godete al mio langui.
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