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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 |
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Notes: 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 |
