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|
V VI:157. From Bullock A2:27:69. I nMS's CASI, RA, VE. Key