Nor better ere were paired in wedlock’s chain.
New trophies he on Oglio’s bank has shown;44
For he, mid bark and car, amid the gleam
Of fire and sword, such goodly rhymes hath strown,
As may with envy swell the neighbouring stream.
By Hercules Bentivòglio next is blown
The noble strain, your honour’s noble theme;
Reynet Trivulzio and Guidetti mine,
And Molza, called of Phoebus and the Nine.
There’s Hercules of the Carnuti,451 son
Of my own duke, who spreads his every plume
Soaring and singing, like harmonious swan,
And even to heaven uplifts your name; with whom
There is my lord of Guasto, not alone
A theme for many an Athens, many a Rome;
In his high strain he promises as well,
Your praise to all posterity to tell.
And beside these and others of our day,
Who gave you once, or give you now renown,
This for yourselves ye may yourselves purvey:
For many, laying silk and sampler down,
With the melodious Muses, to allay
Their thirst at Aganippe’s well, have gone,
And still are going; who so fairly speed,
That we more theirs than they our labour need.
If I of these would separately tell,
And render good account and honour due,
More than one page I with their praise should swell,
Nor ought beside would this day’s canto shew;
And if on five or six alone I dwell,
I may offend and anger all the crew.
What then shall I resolve? to pass all by?
Or choose but one from such a company?
One will I choose, and such will choose, that she
All envy shall so well have overthrown,
No other woman can offend be,
If, passing others, her I praise alone:
Nor joys this one but immortality,
Through her sweet style (and better know I none);
But who is honoured in her speech and page,
Shall burst the tomb, and live through every age.
As Phoebus to his silvery sister shows
His visage more, and lends her brighter fires,
Than Venus, Maja, or to star that glows
Alone, or circles with the heavenly choirs;
So he with sweeter eloquence than flows
From other lips, that gentle dame inspires;
And gives her word such force, a second sun
Seems in our days its glorious course to run.
Mid victories born, Victoria is her name,452
Well named; and whom (does she advance or stay)
Triumphs and trophies evermore proclaim,
While Victory heads or follows her array.
Another Artemisia is the dame,
Renowned for love of her Mausolus, yea
By so much greater, as it is more brave
To raise the dead, than lay them in the grave.
If chaste Laodamia, Portia true,
Evadne, Argìa, Arria,453 and many more
Merited praise, because that glorious crew
Coveted burial with their lords of yore,
How much more fame is to Victoria due?
That from dull Lethe, and the river’s shore,
Which nine times hems the ghosts, to upper light
Has dragged her lord, in death and fate’s despite.
If that loud-voiced Maeonian trump whilere
The Macedonian grudged Achilles, how,
Francis Pescara, O unconquered peer,
Would he begrudge thee, were he living now,
That wife, so virtuous and to thee so dear,
Thy well-earned glory through the world should blow;
And that thy name through her should so rebound,
Thou needst not crave a clearer trumpet’s sound!
If all that is to tell, and all I fain
Would of that lady tell, I wished to unfold,
Though long, yet not so long, would be the stain,
But that large portion would be left untold,
While at a stand the story would remain
Of fierce Marphisa and her comrades bold;
To follow whom I promised erst, if you
Would but return to hear my song anew.
Now, being here to listen to my say,
Because I would not break my promise, I
Until my better leisure, will delay
Her every praise at length to certify.
Not that I think she needs my humble lay,
Who with such treasure can herself supply:
But simply to appay my single end,
That gentle dame to honour and commend.
Ladies, in fine I say, that every age
Worthy of story, many a dame supplies;
But that, through jealous authors’ envious rage,
Unchronicled by fame, each matron dies;
But will no more; since in the historic page
Your virtues ye, yourselves, immortalize.
Had those two damsels in this art been read,
Their every warlike deed had wider spread.
Bradamant and Marphisa would I say,
Whose bold, victorious deeds, in battle done,
I strive to bring into the light of day;
But nine in ten remain to me unknown.
I what I know right willingly display;
As well, that all fair actions should be shown,
As well that, gentle ladies, I am bent
Ye whom I love and honour, to content.
As said, in act to go Rogero stood;
And, having taken leave, the cavalier
Withdraws his trenchant faulchion from the wood,
Which holds no more the weapon, as whilere.
When, sounding loud amid that solitude,
A cry, not distant far, arrests the peer.
Then thitherward he with those damsels made,
Prompt, if ’twere needed, to bestow his aid.
They rode an-end; and louder waxed the sound,
And plainer were the plaintive words they heard:
When in a valley they three women found
Making that plaint, who in strange garb appeared:
For to the navel were those three ungowned,
—Their coats by some uncourteous varlet sheared—
And knowing not how better to disguise
Their shame, they sate on earth, and dared not rise.
As Vulcan’s son,454 that sprang (as it is versed)
Out of the dust, without a mother made,
Whom—so Minerva bade—Aglauros nursed
With sovereign care, too bold and curious maid,
Seated in car, by him constructed first
To hide his hideous feet, was erst conveyed;
So that which never is to sight revealed,
Sitting, those mournful damsels kept concealed.
At that dishonest sight and shameful, glows
Each martial damsel’s visage, overspread
With the rich
