What you have achieved, my Lord, makes you count

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

Amaro Lagrimar
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