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Now that lofty scorn and full piety, the nobility of your soul all turn your iron feet to rebuild for Jesus our shaken armies, to honor yourself I pray to God with a desire so strong I feel it in my loins to help you to your ends--may you shiver of the fierce barbaric enemy and scatter their bones across the continents. Triumphs, rivers, mountains, immortal names, victories like his, yours--he always loved my punning on my name, for I was his-- but enough of my Sun's brief day--only you are left to make his kind of splendor. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V, p. 383 (unnumbered). See also B E3:204; MSs L, CAS, CASI, RA. To Alfonso d'Avalos, Marchese del Vasto, said to have been written at the time of his expedition into Turkey; since it refers to Pescara's death, it has to have been written after November 1525; Del Vasto honored for fighting against the "infidels" in 1531-2. Key |
