Author: RobertPetrecca

Gentle death remedy of

The bad, mercy, mercy

With clasped hands I

Implore you, come and

See me, or take

Me; what worse things

Love does to me. 

My living spirit is

Consumed and spent. Here 

I am. Where I

Was happy, now I’m

Halfway there. Where I

Walk, pain and pain

And crying. She wanted

Me to come and 

Much worse to bad 

Can death or time

Be. I’m grateful, I

Can tell you, by

The hand of this

Helper: I count as

Many as I say: Love,

Why do you do

Bad to yourself like

The one in the

Inferno does before he

Strikes?

Love and Miss Lisa 

And Guido and I

Can well thank the

Man who made who

Leave? I won’t name

The person because I’ll

Have it in to

Oblivion. Further, these three

Don’t want to hear

It; they were servants

In his guise, truthfully, 

None served him more,

Imagining he was god.

Thank love that he

Noticed in the first

Place, then, the wise

Woman withdrew her heart;

And Guido who’s still

Not concerned and I’m

Still with fallen virtue;

If, then, I’m pleased, 

Perhaps, it’s not believed.

————————————-

Amore, e Mona Lagia,

E Guido, ed io possiam

Ben ringraziare un Ser

Costui, che n’ ha partiti,

Sapete da cui? Nol vo’

Contar per averlo in

Oblio. Poi questi tre

Piu’ non v’ hanno disio’;

Ch’ eran serventi di tal

Guisa in lui, che

Veramente piu’ di lor

Non fui, immaginando,

Ch’ elli fosse Iddio.

Sia ringraziato Amor,

Che se ne accorse

Primieramente, poi la

Donna saggia, che in

Quel punto li ritolse il

Core. E Guido ancor,

Che n’ e’ del tutto fore,

Ed io ancor, che n’ sua

Virtute caggia; se poi

Mi piacque, non si

Crede forse.

Una figura de la donna

Mia s’ adora Guido, a

San Michele in Orto,

Che di bella sembianza,

Onesta e pia, de’ 

Peccatori e refugio 

E conforto: e quale

A lei divoto s’ umilia

Chi piu’ languisce,

Piu’ n’ ha di conforto:

Fl’ infermi sana, i

Demon caccia via,

E gli occhi orbati fa

Vedere scorto. Sana

In pubblico loco gran

Languori: con reverenza

La gente l’ inchina; due

Luminara l’ adornan di

Fuori: la voce va per

Lontane cammina; ma

Dicon, ch’ e’ idolatra,

I Fra Minori, per invidia,

Che non e lor vicina.

———————————-

The figure of my

Woman adores Guido at

The church of San

Michele in Orto; her

Beautiful resemblance, honest and

Pious. To sinners she

Gives refuge and comfort: 

And likewise the humbly

Devoted. Whoever kneels before

Her are comforted: The

Infirm are healed, demons

Are thrown out, and

Those with crooked eyes

See straight. Healings in

Public, open spaces: With

Reverence the people kneel,

Two lamps adorn her

Outline. Her voice travels

Far and wide; but,

The minor friars say,

Idolatry. Envy, it’s not

Even their place.

Because I do not

Hope to return, again,

Ballad, to Tuscany, you

Go light and easy

Straight to my woman

That for her courtesy

She will do you

Great honor. You bring

New sighs full of

Pain and much fear,

But see that no

Person sees you that

Is an enemy of 

Gentle nature; for sure,

My misadventure you contest,

Far from you held

And I’m anguished and

After death I cry

With new pains. You,

Listen, Ballad, death holds

Me so tightly that

Life has abandoned me;

Listen how my heart

Beats strongly for her.

Then, each spirit reasons,

I’m so distressed that

I can’t suffer; if 

You want to help

Me, take my soul

With you when you

Leave my heart. Yes,

Ballad, to your friendship 

And this soul that 

Trembles, I recommend bringing

It with you, in

Pity, to that beautiful

Woman to whom I 

Send you. Yes, Ballad,

Tell her sighing when

You present yourself, your

Servant has come to

Stay with you, departed 

From him who was

A servant of love. My

Bewildered and weak voice

That exits crying from

My painful heart, with

My soul and this

Ballad, go reason about

My ruined mind. You,

Go and find a

Pleasing woman with a

Sweet intellect, that will

Delight you, and keep

Her in front of

You, soul, and you

Adore her with all

Your strength.

In a forest I

Found a shepherdess, more

Beautiful than a star

She seemed to me.

Blonde, curly hair and

Eyes full of love;

A pale rose. With

A stick she pastured

Lambs; barefoot and wet

With dew; singing like

She was in love. 

She was adorned in

All pleasantness. With love

I saluted her immediately

And asked her if

She was alone: and

She responded sweetly, I’m

All alone in this

Forest: she said: when

The birds begin to

Sing, that’s when my

Heart seeks a lover.

As she was speaking 

Of her condition, birds

Began to sing in

The forest, to myself

I said: is this

The season of joy

To take this shepherdess;

With mercy I asked 

Her for just a

Kiss, and she embraced

Me, willingly. She took

Me by love’s hand,

Willingly and said, I

Give you my heart.

She led me to

A leafy, place and

I saw flowers of

Every color and I

Drank of so much

Pleasure that I saw

The god of love there.

I see women with

My woman, though none

Of them seem like

Women, but seem all

Like shadows. If, it

Wasn’t true, I wouldn’t

Praise her and I

Won’t debase others, if,

You get my intention:

But, reason moves a

Thought to say: Soon,

My spirit dies, cruel.

If you see me,

Don’t cry. When I’m

Deep in thought my

Eyes go away, full

Of tears, in to

My heart and I

Can’t forget.

Because of my painful

Heart, I conveniently bring

And take pleasure in

The burning flames that

Draw me in to

A lowly, place. I

Speak about how I

Lost all courage. I 

Say my spirit is

Dead. My heart feels

Much war and little

Life. If it wasn’t 

That death was a

Game to me, I’d

Make pity cry to

Love. But, because this

Crazy time has arrived,

I’ll change my firm

Opinion about that other

Condition. I can’t move,

And I’m breathless,

There, where I was

Deceived, when love passed

Through my heart and

Took away all my hope.

If mercy has totally,

Obliterated me, then, already

Faith will never abandon

My heart; reasoning ahead

To the grateful, services

Of the pitiless, heart,

And what I feel,

I don’t believe, but

Who sees? Certainly, not

A person. Love lends 

Me a spirit in

That place when figured,

Dies: Where pleasantness 

Tightens me so much

That my sighs move,

And seemingly, my heart

Rains down sweet, love

So good that I 

Say: woman, I’m all yours.