Chè sovente addivien che 'l saggio e 'l forte Fabbro a se stesso è di beata sorte. - Torquato Tasso

The craftsman is in his own craft beguiled.

Now spread the night her spangled canopy,
And summoned every restless eye to sleep;
On beds of tender grass the beasts down lie,
The fishes slumbered in the silent deep,
Unheard were serpent's hiss and dragon's cry,
Birds left to sing, and Philomen to weep,
Only that noise heaven's rolling circles kest,
Sung lullaby to bring the world to rest.

Cruel Love! You bear our death in murderous vials,
filled now with gall, now with your honeyed treasure—
equally fatal all that you ensure,
whether it be the sickness or the cure.