If wish to succour rules thy beauteous hand,
Make no delay, lest some of us
Unhappy ones reach death, ere we
Praising thy act
Can each one say,
So much did she torment, yet more did heal.
Then she replied: Oh curious prying minds,
Take this my other fatal urn,
Which my own hand may not unclose;
Over the wide expanse of earth,
Wander ye still,
Search for and visit all the various kingdoms.
Fate hath decreed, it ne'er shall be unclosed
Till lofty wisdom, noble chastity
And loveliness with these combined,
Shall set their hands to it;
All other efforts vain,
To make this fluid open to the sky.
Then should it chance to sprinkle beauteous hands,
Of those who come anear for remedy,
Its god-like virtues you may prove,
And turning cruel pain
Into a sweet content,
Two lovely stars upon the earth you'll see.
Meanwhile be none of you cast down or sad,
Although long while in deep obscurity
All that the heavens contain remain concealed,
For good so great as this,
No pain, however sharp,
Can be accounted worthy of the cost.
That Good to which through blindness you are led,
Should make appear all other-having, vile,
And every torment be as pleasure held,
Who, hoping to behold
Graces unique and rare,
May hold in high disdain all other lights.
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