Thou servest worms for food, And from thine altitude Fierce death has shaken thee down, and thou dost fit Thy bed within a pit. Night, endless night, hath got thee To clutch, and to englut thee; And rottenness confounds Thy limbs and their sleek rounds; And thou art stuck there, stuck there, in despite, Like a foul animal in a trap at night. Ai vermi dai pastura ; Da fiera morte scossa Fai tuo letto una fossa. Notte, continua notte Ti divora ed inghiotte, Le si pastose membra, E ti stai fitta fitta per dispetto, Come animal immondo al laccio stretto. Come in the public path, and see how all Shall fly thee, as a child goes shrieking back From something long and black, Which mocks along the wall. See if the kind will stay, To hear what thou wouldst say; See if thine arms can win One soul to think of sin; See if the tribe of wooers Will now become pursuers; Vedrai se ognun di te mettrà paura, E fuggirà come garzon la sera Da l'ombra lunga e nera, Che striscia per le mura; Vedrai se a la tua vose Cedran l'alme pietose ; Vedrai se al tuo invitare Alcun vorrà cascare; Vedrai se seguiranti Le turbe de gli amanti; And if where they make way, Thou'lt carry now the day; Or whether thou wilt spread not such foul night, Yes, till thou turn into the loathly hole, As the least pain to thy bold-facedness. There let thy foul distress Turn round upon thy soul, E tornerai dentro l'immonde bolge Per minor pena de la tua baldanza. La tua disonoranza Allora in te si volge, And cry, O wretch in a shroud, That wast so headstrong proud, This, this is the reward, For hearts that are so hard, That flaunt so, and adorn, And pamper them, and scorn To cast a thought down hither, Where all things come to wither; And where no resting is, and no repentance, Even to the day of the last awful sentence. E grida, o sciaurata, Che fosti si sfrenata: Quest' è il premio che torna A chi tanto s'adorna, A chi nutre sue carne Senza qua giù guardarne, Dove tutto se volve In cenere ed in polve, E dove non è requie o penitenza, Fino a quel dì de l'ultima sentenza. Where is that alabaster bosom now, That undulated once, like sea on shore? 'Tis clay unto the core. Where are those sparkling eyes, That were like twins o' the skies? Alas, two caves are they, Filled only with dismay. Where is the lip, that shone Like painting newly done? Dov'è quel bianco seno d' alabastro, Dove gli occhi lucenti, Ahi che son due caverne, Dove orror sol si scerne. Dove il labbro sì bello Che parea di pennello? |