Petrarch - Sonnet CCIII lyrics

HIS SORROW FOR THE ILLNESS OF LAURA INCREASES, NOT LESSENS, HIS FLAME The sovereign Lord, 'gainst whom of no avail Concealment, or resistance is, or flight, My mind had kindled to a new delight By his own amorous and ardent ail: Though his first blow, transfixing my best mail Were mortal sure, to push his triumph quite He took a shaft of sorrow in his right, So my soft heart on both sides to a**ail. A burning wound the one shed fire and flame, The other tears, which ever grief distils, Through eyes for your weak health that are as rills. But no relief from either fountain came My bosom's conflagration to abate, Nay, pa**ion grew by very pity great. Macgregor.