What you have achieved, my Lord, makes you count;
everyone respects you, and on your brow
have placed a wreath of eternal laurel;
you have restored our family name.
Your dauntless spirit, unconquerable,
is ever prompt, proud, strong when in peril,
you don't have to show your scorn for glitter--
for you've known real worth, dwelt with Apollo
on Helicon. Your chivalry secures
your character and places you above
all others; your humble stance, envy-free,
exalts you. My Lord, is there anything
to complain of in this sonnet about
why you've been kept safe for so many years?
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CIX:109. See also B E5:205; MSs F1; 1538/9, 1540-2; 1760 Rota. Translation: Roscoe 236. To Alfonso d'Avalos, Marchese del Vasto. Not necessarily after Pescara's death. Key