Giovanni Battista Casti (1724–1803)

Translated by Leigh Hunt

MY Creditor has no such arms, as he

Whom Homer trumpets, or whom Virgil sings,—

Arms which dismiss’d so many souls in strings,

From warlike Ilium and from Italy;

Nor has he those of later memory,

With which Orlando did such loads of things;

But with hard hints, and horrid botherings,

And such rough ways,—with these he warreth me.

And suddenly he launcheth at me, lo!

His terrible demand, the giuli tre;

I draw me back, and thrust him with a No!

Then glows the fierce resentment of the fray,

Till, turning round, I scamper from the foe;—

The only way, I find, to gain the day.