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The more Fortune violates me, the more
she deepens ancient wounds with recent fears, the stronger am I: I sustain myself by the strength I gain contending with her. And if I am hearing the blasphemous sirens' perilous sweet songs in my sighs, these solace and delight me: where else can I hope to find comfort in this sad world? I am like those who have fed on poison from when they were babies until they died: what maims all other things nourishes me. My heart still feeds upon fire and pain which may aid me like a shield against all the evil forms that Fortune can assume. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V VI:157. From Bullock A2:27:69. I nMS's CASI, RA, VE. Key |
