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I see the Heavens all afire, free with wounds for me; but scornful and slow to answer my just longing, and I show but the scab of deep wounds born, hid in this heart; I despaired long ago; the burden of this flesh cannot lighten; against my will I cross time's thresholds, caught in the seasons' tedious unwinding, how change my style? Lucky Portia to put out the fires consuming her from within by the death of a fire outside her: fear of death caused her intrepid death which contracted the heart's long death: but a deeper fear saps my will: mine is not the lesser torment. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CI:101. See also B A1:78:42; R L:141. Translation: Lefèvre-Deumier, 29-30. Written in response to Ludovico Ariosto's Latin epigram, "Non vivam sine, mi Brute, exterrita dixit" (printed by R, pp 381-2 & Lefèvre-Deumier, p 29. Key |
