Friday, 28 February 2014

"The Divine Comedy" by Dante Alighieri (Inferno, Chant V) (in Italian)



Inferno: Canto V

Cosi` discesi del cerchio primaio
  giu` nel secondo, che men loco cinghia,
  e tanto piu` dolor, che punge a guaio.

Stavvi Minos orribilmente, e ringhia:
  essamina le colpe ne l'intrata;
  giudica e manda secondo ch'avvinghia.

Dico che quando l'anima mal nata
  li vien dinanzi, tutta si confessa;
  e quel conoscitor de le peccata

vede qual loco d'inferno e` da essa;
  cignesi con la coda tante volte
  quantunque gradi vuol che giu` sia messa.

Sempre dinanzi a lui ne stanno molte;
  vanno a vicenda ciascuna al giudizio;
  dicono e odono, e poi son giu` volte.

<<O tu che vieni al doloroso ospizio>>,
  disse Minos a me quando mi vide,
  lasciando l'atto di cotanto offizio,

<<guarda com'entri e di cui tu ti fide;
  non t'inganni l'ampiezza de l'intrare!>>.
  E 'l duca mio a lui: <<Perche' pur gride?

Non impedir lo suo fatale andare:
  vuolsi cosi` cola` dove si puote
  cio` che si vuole, e piu` non dimandare>>.

Or incomincian le dolenti note
  a farmisi sentire; or son venuto
  la` dove molto pianto mi percuote.

Io venni in loco d'ogne luce muto,
  che mugghia come fa mar per tempesta,
  se da contrari venti e` combattuto.

La bufera infernal, che mai non resta,
  mena li spirti con la sua rapina;
  voltando e percotendo li molesta.

Quando giungon davanti a la ruina,
  quivi le strida, il compianto, il lamento;
  bestemmian quivi la virtu` divina.

Intesi ch'a cosi` fatto tormento
  enno dannati i peccator carnali,
  che la ragion sommettono al talento.

E come li stornei ne portan l'ali
  nel freddo tempo, a schiera larga e piena,
  cosi` quel fiato li spiriti mali

di qua, di la`, di giu`, di su` li mena;
  nulla speranza li conforta mai,
  non che di posa, ma di minor pena.

E come i gru van cantando lor lai,
  faccendo in aere di se' lunga riga,
  cosi` vid'io venir, traendo guai,

ombre portate da la detta briga;
  per ch'i' dissi: <<Maestro, chi son quelle
  genti che l'aura nera si` gastiga?>>.

<<La prima di color di cui novelle
  tu vuo' saper>>, mi disse quelli allotta,
  <<fu imperadrice di molte favelle.

A vizio di lussuria fu si` rotta,
  che libito fe' licito in sua legge,
  per torre il biasmo in che era condotta.

Ell'e` Semiramis, di cui si legge
  che succedette a Nino e fu sua sposa:
  tenne la terra che 'l Soldan corregge.

L'altra e` colei che s'ancise amorosa,
  e ruppe fede al cener di Sicheo;
  poi e` Cleopatras lussuriosa.

Elena vedi, per cui tanto reo
  tempo si volse, e vedi 'l grande Achille,
  che con amore al fine combatteo.

Vedi Paris, Tristano>>; e piu` di mille
  ombre mostrommi e nominommi a dito,
  ch'amor di nostra vita dipartille.

Poscia ch'io ebbi il mio dottore udito
  nomar le donne antiche e ' cavalieri,
  pieta` mi giunse, e fui quasi smarrito.

I' cominciai: <<Poeta, volontieri
  parlerei a quei due che 'nsieme vanno,
  e paion si` al vento esser leggeri>>.

Ed elli a me: <<Vedrai quando saranno
  piu` presso a noi; e tu allor li priega
  per quello amor che i mena, ed ei verranno>>.

Si` tosto come il vento a noi li piega,
  mossi la voce: <<O anime affannate,
  venite a noi parlar, s'altri nol niega!>>.

Quali colombe dal disio chiamate
  con l'ali alzate e ferme al dolce nido
  vegnon per l'aere dal voler portate;

cotali uscir de la schiera ov'e` Dido,
  a noi venendo per l'aere maligno,
  si` forte fu l'affettuoso grido.

<<O animal grazioso e benigno
  che visitando vai per l'aere perso
  noi che tignemmo il mondo di sanguigno,

se fosse amico il re de l'universo,
  noi pregheremmo lui de la tua pace,
  poi c'hai pieta` del nostro mal perverso.

Di quel che udire e che parlar vi piace,
  noi udiremo e parleremo a voi,
  mentre che 'l vento, come fa, ci tace.

Siede la terra dove nata fui
  su la marina dove 'l Po discende
  per aver pace co' seguaci sui.

Amor, ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende
  prese costui de la bella persona
  che mi fu tolta; e 'l modo ancor m'offende.

Amor, ch'a nullo amato amar perdona,
  mi prese del costui piacer si` forte,
  che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona.

Amor condusse noi ad una morte:
  Caina attende chi a vita ci spense>>.
  Queste parole da lor ci fuor porte.

Quand'io intesi quell'anime offense,
  china' il viso e tanto il tenni basso,
  fin che 'l poeta mi disse: <<Che pense?>>.

Quando rispuosi, cominciai: <<Oh lasso,
  quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio
  meno` costoro al doloroso passo!>>.

Poi mi rivolsi a loro e parla' io,
  e cominciai: <<Francesca, i tuoi martiri
  a lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio.

Ma dimmi: al tempo d'i dolci sospiri,
  a che e come concedette Amore
  che conosceste i dubbiosi disiri?>>.

E quella a me: <<Nessun maggior dolore
  che ricordarsi del tempo felice
  ne la miseria; e cio` sa 'l tuo dottore.

Ma s'a conoscer la prima radice
  del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto,
  diro` come colui che piange e dice.

Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto
  di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse;
  soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.

Per piu` fiate li occhi ci sospinse
  quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;
  ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.

Quando leggemmo il disiato riso
  esser basciato da cotanto amante,
  questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,

la bocca mi bascio` tutto tremante.
  Galeotto fu 'l libro e chi lo scrisse:
  quel giorno piu` non vi leggemmo avante>>.

Mentre che l'uno spirto questo disse,
  l'altro piangea; si` che di pietade
  io venni men cosi` com'io morisse.

E caddi come corpo morto cade.

Thursday, 27 February 2014

"A San Andrés" by St. Therese of Avila (in Spanish)



Si el padecer con amor
puede dar tan gran deleite,
¡qué gozo nos dará el verte!

¿Qué será cuando veamos
a la inmensa y suma luz,
pues de ver Andrés la cruz
se pudo tanto alegrar?
¡Oh, que no puede faltar
en el padecer deleite!
¡Qué gozo nos dará el verte!

El amor cuando es crecido
no puede estar sin obrar,
ni el fuerte sin pelear,
por amor de su querido.
Con esto le habrá vencido,
y querrá que en todo acierte.
¡Qué gozo nos dará el verte!

Pues todos temen la muerte,
¿cómo te es dulce el morir?
¡Oh, que voy para vivir
en más encumbrada suerte!
¡Oh mi Dios, que con tu muerte
al más flaco hiciste fuerte!
¡Qué gozo nos dará el verte!

¡Oh cruz, madero precioso,
lleno de gran majestad!
Pues siendo de despreciar,
tomaste a Dios por esposo,
a ti vengo muy gozoso,
sin merecer el quererte.
Esme muy gran gozo el verte.

Wednesday, 26 February 2014

"The Ant and the Grasshopper" by Aesop (in English)




     In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest.

     "Why not come and chat with me," said the Grasshopper, "instead of toiling and moiling in that way?"

     "I am helping to lay up food for the winter," said the Ant, "and recommend you to do the same."

     "Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; we have got plenty of food at present." But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper had no food and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing every day corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew:

            It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.

Tuesday, 25 February 2014

... Como, Nos Dias De Grandes Acontecimentos No Centro Da Cidade by Álvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessoa) (in Portuguese)



... Como, nos dias de grandes acontecimentos no centro da cidade,
Nos bairros quase-excêntricos as conversas em silêncio às portas
A expectativa em grupos...
Ninguém sabe nada.
Leve rastro de brisa
Coisa nenhuma que é real
E que, com um afago ou um sopro
Toca o que há até que seja...
Magnificência da naturalidade.
Coração.
Que Áricas inéditas em cada desejo!
Que melhores coisas que tudo lá longe!
Meu cotovelo toca no da vizinha do eléctrico
Com uma involuntariedade fruste
Curto-circuito da proximidade...
Ideias ao acaso
Como um balde que se entornou —
Fito-o é um balde entornado...
Jaz: jazo...

Sunday, 23 February 2014

"A Cavalgada" by Raimundo Correia (in Portuguese)



A lua banha a solitária estrada...
Silêncio!... Mas além, confuso e brando,
O som longínquo vem-se aproximando
Do galopar de estranha cavalgada.

São fidalgos que voltam da caçada;
Vêm alegres, vêm rindo, vêm cantando.
E as trompas a soar vão agitando
O remanso da noite embalsamada...

E o bosque estala, move-se, estremece...
Da cavalgada o estrépito que aumenta
Perde-se após no centro da montanha...

E o silêncio outra vez soturno desce...
E límpida, sem mácula, alvacenta
A lua a estrada solitária banha...

Saturday, 22 February 2014

"Tu Tens um Medo" by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)



Acabar.
Não vês que acabas todo o dia.
Que morres no amor.
Na tristeza.
Na dúvida.
No desejo.
Que te renovas todo dia.
No amor.
Na tristeza
Na dúvida.
No desejo.
Que és sempre outro.
Que és sempre o mesmo.
Que morrerás por idades imensas.
Até não teres medo de morrer.
E então serás eterno.
Não ames como os homens amam.
Não ames com amor.
Ama sem amor.
Ama sem querer.
Ama sem sentir.
Ama como se fosses outro.
Como se fosses amar.
Sem esperar.
Tão separado do que ama, em ti,
Que não te inquiete
Se o amor leva à felicidade,
Se leva à morte,
Se leva a algum destino.
Se te leva.
E se vai, ele mesmo...
Não faças de ti
Um sonho a realizar.
Vai.
Sem caminho marcado.
Tu és o de todos os caminhos.
Sê apenas uma presença.
Invisível presença silenciosa.
Todas as coisas esperam a luz,
Sem dizerem que a esperam.
Sem saberem que existe.
Todas as coisas esperarão por ti,
Sem te falarem.
Sem lhes falares.
Sê o que renuncia
Altamente:
Sem tristeza da tua renúncia!
Sem orgulho da tua renúncia!
Abre as tuas mãos sobre o infinito.
E não deixes ficar de ti
Nem esse último gesto!
O que tu viste amargo,
Doloroso, Difícil,
O que tu viste inútil
Foi o que viram os teus olhos
Humanos,
Esquecidos...
Enganados...
No momento da tua renúncia
Estende sobre a vida
Os teus olhos
E tu verás o que vias:
Mas tu verás melhor...
... E tudo que era efêmero se desfez.
E ficaste só tu, que é eterno.

Friday, 21 February 2014

"The Moor Ghost" by Robert E. Howard (in English)



They hauled him to the crossroads
As day was at its close;
They hung him to the gallows
And left him for the crows.

His hands in life were bloody,
His ghost will not be still
He haunts the naked moorlands
About the gibbet hill.

And oft a lonely traveler
Is found upon the fen
Whose dead eyes hold a horror
Beyond the world of men.

The villagers then whisper,
With accents grim and dour:
"This man has met at midnight
The phantom of the moor."

Thursday, 20 February 2014

"Como Sombras de Nuvens que Passam" (Canto XI) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

   Passara o temporal, mas ainda soprava um vento forte quando houve um apagão; por isso Mamma Rosa acendeu uma vela em meu quarto.
   Estava a despir a camisa quando ouvi um leve sussurrar na janela. Sorri a me lembrar dO Corvo e fui ver quem era.
   - Sou eu! Abra!
   Reconheci a voz de Berto. Abri a janela e ele entrou por ela com um pulo.
   - Se me pegam aqui, me matam!
   Voltei a vestir a camisa.
   Passou a mão por seus cabelos e disse: Quem  sou eu? Um bruto cheirando a terra e estrume de cavalo, o sr. sabe. Trabalho nessas terras desde que nasci e esse é o mundo que conheço. Não sou instruido nem pra explicar qualquer coisa. Olhe pra mim! sou desajeitado e digo blasfêmias e o sr. é tão educado e...
    Eu me sentei na cama e o puxei pra junto de mim. Berto não tirava os olhos de seus sapatos sujos.
    - Só queria dizer que... desde que o vi eu... não sei o que houve comigo, com meu coração que estremeceu e caiu no chão e... eu podia, talvez devesse ficar quieto, mas...
    - As flores que amanhecem na minha janela...
    - ...são minhas, sim, com meus suspiros.
    Ele estava rubro. Levantou-se e disse:
    - Eu tinha que dizer-lhe, desculpe. Agora preciso ir...
    E tornou para a janela, mas antes que a alcançasse, puxei-o para mim e um vento entrando pela ventana apagou o lume.

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

"Amor Intellectualis" by Oscar Wilde (in English)



OFT have we trod the vales of Castaly
And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown
From antique reeds to common folk unknown:
And often launched our bark upon that sea
Which the nine Muses hold in empery,
And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam,
Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home
Till we had freighted well our argosy.
Of which despoilèd treasures these remain,
Sordello's passion, and the honied line
Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine
Driving his pampered jades, and more than these,
The seven-fold vision of the Florentine,
And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies.

Tuesday, 18 February 2014

"Night Coming Into A Garden" by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)



Roses red and white,
Every rose is hanging her head,
Silently comes the lady Night,
Only the flowers can hear her tread.

All day long the birds have been calling,
Calling shrill and sweet,
They are still when she comes with her long robe falling
Falling down to her feet.

The thrush has sung to his mate,
' She is coming ! hush ! she is coming ! '
She is lifting the latch at the gate,
And the bees have ceased from their humming.

I cannot see her face as she passes
Through my garden of white and red ;
But I know she has walked where the daisies and grasses
Are curtseying after her tread.

She has passed me by with a rustle and sweep
Of her robe (as she passed I heard it sweeping),
And all my red roses have fallen asleep,
And all my white roses are sleeping.

Saturday, 15 February 2014

"The Hunting Of The Snark an Agony in Eight Fits" by Lewis Carroll (Fit the Fourth) (in English)


Fit the fourt

THE HUNTING

     The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow.
          "If only you'd spoken before!
     It's excessively awkward to mention it now,
          With the Snark, so to speak, at the door!

     "We should all of us grieve, as you well may believe,
          If you never were met with again—
     But surely, my man, when the voyage began,
          You might have suggested it then?

     "It's excessively awkward to mention it now—
          As I think I've already remarked."
     And the man they called "Hi!" replied, with a sigh,
          "I informed you the day we embarked.

     "You may charge me with murder—or want of sense—
          (We are all of us weak at times):
     But the slightest approach to a false pretence
          Was never among my crimes!

     "I said it in Hebrew—I said it in Dutch—
          I said it in German and Greek:
     But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much)
          That English is what you speak!"

     "'Tis a pitiful tale," said the Bellman, whose face
          Had grown longer at every word:
     "But, now that you've stated the whole of your case,
          More debate would be simply absurd.

     "The rest of my speech" (he explained to his men)
          "You shall hear when I've leisure to speak it.
     But the Snark is at hand, let me tell you again!
          'Tis your glorious duty to seek it!

     "To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;
          To pursue it with forks and hope;
     To threaten its life with a railway-share;
          To charm it with smiles and soap!

     "For the Snark's a peculiar creature, that won't
          Be caught in a commonplace way.
     Do all that you know, and try all that you don't:
          Not a chance must be wasted to-day!

     "For England expects—I forbear to proceed:
          'Tis a maxim tremendous, but trite:
     And you'd best be unpacking the things that you need
          To rig yourselves out for the fight."

     Then the Banker endorsed a blank cheque (which he crossed),
          And changed his loose silver for notes.
     The Baker with care combed his whiskers and hair,
          And shook the dust out of his coats.

     The Boots and the Broker were sharpening a spade—
          Each working the grindstone in turn:
     But the Beaver went on making lace, and displayed
          No interest in the concern:

     Though the Barrister tried to appeal to its pride,
          And vainly proceeded to cite
     A number of cases, in which making laces
          Had been proved an infringement of right.

     The maker of Bonnets ferociously planned
          A novel arrangement of bows:
     While the Billiard-marker with quivering hand
          Was chalking the tip of his nose.

     But the Butcher turned nervous, and dressed himself fine,
          With yellow kid gloves and a ruff—
     Said he felt it exactly like going to dine,
          Which the Bellman declared was all "stuff."

     "Introduce me, now there's a good fellow," he said,
          "If we happen to meet it together!"
     And the Bellman, sagaciously nodding his head,
          Said "That must depend on the weather."

     The Beaver went simply galumphing about,
          At seeing the Butcher so shy:
     And even the Baker, though stupid and stout,
          Made an effort to wink with one eye.

     "Be a man!" said the Bellman in wrath, as he heard
          The Butcher beginning to sob.
     "Should we meet with a Jubjub, that desperate bird,
          We shall need all our strength for the job!"

"The Hunting Of The Snark an Agony in Eight Fits" by Lewis Carroll (Fit the Third) (in English)



  

Fit the Third
THE BAKER'S TALE

     They roused him with muffins—they roused him with ice—
          They roused him with mustard and cress—
     They roused him with jam and judicious advice—
          They set him conundrums to guess.

     When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
          His sad story he offered to tell;
     And the Bellman cried "Silence!  Not even a shriek!"
          And excitedly tingled his bell.

     There was silence supreme!  Not a shriek, not a scream,
          Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
     As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe
          In an antediluvian tone.

     "My father and mother were honest, though poor—"
          "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
     "If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark—
          We have hardly a minute to waste!"

     "I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,
          "And proceed without further remark
     To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
          To help you in hunting the Snark.

     "A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
          Remarked, when I bade him farewell—"
     "Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
          As he angrily tingled his bell.

     "He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
          "'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
     Fetch it home by all means—you may serve it with greens,
          And it's handy for striking a light.

     "'You may seek it with thimbles—and seek it with care;
          You may hunt it with forks and hope;
     You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
          You may charm it with smiles and soap—'"

     ("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
          In a hasty parenthesis cried,
     "That's exactly the way I have always been told
          That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")

     "'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
          If your Snark be a Boojum!  For then
     You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
          And never be met with again!'

     "It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
          When I think of my uncle's last words:
     And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
          Brimming over with quivering curds!

     "It is this, it is this—" "We have had that before!"
          The Bellman indignantly said.
     And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
          It is this, it is this that I dread!

     "I engage with the Snark—every night after dark—
          In a dreamy delirious fight:
     I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
          And I use it for striking a light:

     "But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
          In a moment (of this I am sure),
     I shall softly and suddenly vanish away—
          And the notion I cannot endure!"

Friday, 14 February 2014

"Ecclesiastes" (Chapter I) by Qoheleth (in English)



1 The words of David's son, Qoheleth, king in Jerusalem: 2 Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth, vanity of vanities! All things are vanity! 3 What profit has man from all the labor which he toils at under the sun?

4 One generation passes and another comes, but the world forever stays. 5 The sun rises and the sun goes down; then it presses on to the place where it rises. 6 Blowing now toward the south, then toward the north, the wind turns again and again, resuming its rounds. 7 All rivers go to the sea, yet never does the sea become full. To the place where they go, the rivers keep on going. 8 All speech is labored; there is nothing man can say. The eye is not satisfied with seeing nor is the ear filled with hearing. 9 What has been, that will be; what has been done, that will be done. Nothing is new under the sun. 10 Even the thing of which we say, "See, this is new!" has already existed in the ages that preceded us. 11 There is no remembrance of the men of old; nor of those to come will there be any remembrance among those who come after them.

12 I, Qoheleth, was king over Israel in Jerusalem, 13 and I applied my mind to search and investigate in wisdom all things that are done under the sun. A thankless task God has appointed for men to be busied about. 14 I have seen all things that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a chase after wind.

15 What is crooked cannot be made straight,
and what is missing cannot be supplied.

16 Though I said to myself, "Behold, I have become great and stored up wisdom beyond all who were before me in Jerusalem, and my mind has broad experience of wisdom and knowledge"; 17 yet when I applied my mind to know wisdom and knowledge, madness and folly, I learned that this also is a chase after wind.

18 For in much wisdom there is much sorrow,
and he who stores up knowledge stores up grief.

Thursday, 13 February 2014

Letter of Pope Francis to Those Who Will Be Created Cardinals at the Upcoming Consistory of 22 February by Pope Francis I (translated into English)



     Dear Brother,

     On this the day on which your designation to take part in the College of Cardinals is made public, I would like to send you my warm greeting as well as the assurance of my closeness and of my prayer. I hope that, as a member of the Church of Rome, “clothed in the virtue and sentiments of the Lord Jesus (cf. Rom 13:14), you may help me with fraternal efficacy in my service to the Universal Church.

     The Cardinalate does not signify a promotion, an honour nor a decoration: it is simply a service that demands a broader vision and a bigger heart. And, although it seems a paradox, this ability to look further and love more universally with greater intensity can be acquired only by following the way of the Lord: the way of lowliness and of humility, taking the form of a servant (cf. Phil 2:5-8). Therefore, I ask you, please, to receive this appointment with a simple and humble heart. And, while you ought to do this with gladness and joy, do so in a way that this sentiment is far from any kind of expression of worldliness, from any celebration alien to the evangelical spirit of austerity, moderation and poverty.

     We will see each other, then, on 20 February, when we will begin two days of reflection on the family. I am at your service and, please I ask you to pray, and ask for your prayers for me.

      May Jesus bless you and may the Holy Virgin protect you.

      Fraternally,

From the Vatican, 12 January 2014

FRANCIS

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Sonnet VII by William Shakespeare (in English)

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
   So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon
   Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

"Tristeza de Momo" by Raimundo Correia (in Portuguese)



Pela primeira vez, ímpias risadas
Susta em pranto o deus da zombaria;
Chora; e vingam-se dele, nesse dia,
Os silvanos e as ninfas ultrajadas;

Trovejam bocas mil escancaradas,
Rindo; arrombam-se os diques da alegria;
E estoira descomposta vozeria
Por toda a selva, e apupos e pedradas...

Fauno, indigita; a Náiade o caçoa;
Sátiros vis, da mais indigna laia,
Zombam. Não há quem dele se condoa!

E Eco propaga a formidável vaia,
Que além por fundos boqueirões reboa
E, como um largo mar, rola e se espraia...