Stolen fire of industry of the deities
Is same science for the other parts;
Poor person of device, all of same arts,
Never will make here more than she was sung.
To know old it has always who tires,
Null beauty that nothing more generates,
Nor if it counts with what the time operates:
To never know full that it is reached.
I am passive, subject, and work
Without hope in each new development;
I make that I learn, does not have quality.
There, they take account by that I am valid,
They charge of the life for my performance.
I have that paid God had in the Log.
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