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Delicious things satiate little.

Sicilian proverbs
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Fishing

delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious
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delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious
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delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious delicious
delicious

poem by Nyein Way
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Delicious

April, (? )
When you get that smile in your eye.
Something inside
Goes wild wild wild.
Sunshine
Chase away my rainy days.
Our summer leave
Is here. please stay.
Chorus:
Ill hold (hold) you in my arms next to me.
You (you) are the one that set me free.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.
Delicious.
Ill (hold) never ever ever let you go.
Youre (you) my taste of honey, girl.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.
Delicious.
Rainbow
Let me know the storm has past.
These memories
Will last and last.
Passion
Curling through the core of the night.
Where have you been
All my life.
Ill hold (hold) you in my arms next to me.
You (you) are the one that sets me free.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.
Delicious.
Ill (hold) never ever ever let you go.
Youre (you) my taste of honey, girl.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.
Delicious.
We as one
Here we lie.
Holding hands
Across the sky.
Please be mine. Ill never ever leave you.
Please be mine.
Ill hold (hold) you in my arms next to me.
You (you) are the one that sets me free.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.
Delicious.
Ill (hold) never ever ever let you go.
Youre (you) my taste of honey, girl.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.
Delicious. (put the fire in my heart)
Ill hold (hold) you in my arms next to me.
You (you) are the one that set me free.
You (you) put the fire in my heart.

[...] Read more

song performed by New Edition
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Paradise Lost: Book 09

No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam'd. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor'd,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign'd; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast
Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem. Me, of these
Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Baited By Ratings (The Defamation Game)

Baited by ratings,
And driven to satiate...
The entertainment of news.
And what and who produces the best,
Net worth.
At the sacrifice of substance.
Feeding those obstinate.
With desires that are decadent.

Baited by ratings,
And driven to satiate...
Public revelations,
Of those raise to heights.
Those selected to be judged and smeared.
By those electing to delight from the blight.

Baited by ratings,
And driven to satiate...
On gossip that's dropped.
With nonstop dollars...
Given to the media on top,
Of the defamation game.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With Sweetened Feedings Eating

I'd rather fictionalize.
I'd rather remove the real-ness...
From my eyes.

I'd rather fictionalize.
And,
Live a life with everything made up...
With sweetened feedings eaten.
Living life with everything made up...
With sweetened feedings eaten.

I'd rather fictionalize.
I'd rather remove the real-ness...
From my eyes.

I'd rather pick on my platter,
Everything delicious I'll eat up.
And it wouldn't matter that it's...
Everything delicious I'll eat up.

I'd rather fictionalize.
I'd rather remove the real-ness...
From my eyes.
And,
Live a life with everything made up...
With sweetened feedings eating,
Everything delicious I'll eat up.
And it wouldn't matter that it's...
Everything delicious I'll eat up.
With sweetened feedings eating,
Everything delicious I'll eat up.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Its De-lovely

I feel a sudden urge to sing the kind of ditty that invokes the spring
So, control your desire to curse while I crucify the verse
This verse Ive started seems to me the tin pan-tithesis of melody
So to spare you all the pain, Ill skip the darn thing and sing the refrain
The night is young, the skies are clear
And if you want to go walkin, dear
Its delightful, its delicious, its de-lovely
I understand the reason why
Youre sentimental, cause so am i
Its delightful, its delicious, its de-lovely
You can tell at a glance what a swell night this is for romance
You can hear, dear mother nature murmuring low let yourself go
So please be sweet, my chickadee
And when I kiss ya, just say to me
Its delightful, its delicious, its delectable, its delirious,
Its dilemma, its de limit, its deluxe, its de-lovely
You can tell at a glance what a swell night this is for romance
You can hear dear mother nature murmuring low let yourself go
So please be sweet, my chickadee
And when I kiss ya, just say to me
Its delightful, its delicious, its delectable, its delirious,
Its dilemma, its de limit, its deluxe, its de-lovely

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paradise Lost: Book 04

O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw
The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to second rout,
Came furious down to be revenged on men,
Woe to the inhabitants on earth! that now,
While time was, our first parents had been warned
The coming of their secret foe, and 'scaped,
Haply so 'scaped his mortal snare: For now
Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came down,
The tempter ere the accuser of mankind,
To wreak on innocent frail Man his loss
Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell:
Yet, not rejoicing in his speed, though bold
Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast,
Begins his dire attempt; which nigh the birth
Now rolling boils in his tumultuous breast,
And like a devilish engine back recoils
Upon himself; horrour and doubt distract
His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir
The Hell within him; for within him Hell
He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell
One step, no more than from himself, can fly
By change of place: Now conscience wakes despair,
That slumbered; wakes the bitter memory
Of what he was, what is, and what must be
Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue.
Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view
Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad;
Sometimes towards Heaven, and the full-blazing sun,
Which now sat high in his meridian tower:
Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began.
O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned,
Lookest from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
Of Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere;
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down
Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King:
Ah, wherefore! he deserved no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good proved ill in me,
And wrought but malice; lifted up so high
I sdeined subjection, and thought one step higher

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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That Sandwich

as you take that sandwich
i remember 1971

the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious

that is not how i saw it in the 70's
you were too young then
to know the connotation of the word

or the metaphor of being sandwiched
between two warring forces
who wanted to win by killing each other

they were all civilians mind you
sandwiched between the armed and dangerous government
and the armed and more dangerous rebels

the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious

in the 70's they were not delicious at all
they were maimed, and bloody, killed on the streets
and public plazas bombed and brains scattered
on the hot cemented pavements
people kept in hog wires and secret
detention places

brothers all but so insensitive to the
the roots of humanity
Cains and Abels

the ham, and mayonnaise
the purple sliced onions
and cucumber
that you slip between
a big sandwich which you
say is too delicious

when all i need is simply a bitter tasting coffee
without the sugar and cream

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Adam: A Sacred Drama. Act 2.

SCENE I. -- CHORUS OF ANGELS Singing.

Now let us garlands weave
Of all the fairest flowers,
Now at this early dawn,
For new-made man, and his companion dear;
Let all with festive joy,
And with melodious song,
Of the great Architect
Applaud this noblest work,
And speak the joyous sound,
Man is the wonder both of Earth and Heaven.

FIRST Angel.

Your warbling now suspend,
You pure angelic progeny of God,
Behold the labour emulous of Heaven!
Behold the woody scene,
Decked with a thousand flowers of grace divine;
Here man resides, here ought he to enjoy
In his fair mate eternity of bliss.

SECOND Angel.

How exquisitely sweet
This rich display of flowers,
This airy wild of fragrance,
So lovely to the eye,
And to the sense so sweet.

THIRD Angel.

O the sublime Creator,
How marvellous his works, and more his power!
Such is the sacred flame
Of his celestial love,
Not able to confine it in himself,
He breathed, as fruitful sparks
From his creative breast,
The Angels, Heaven, Man, Woman, and the World.

FOURTH Angel.

Yes, mighty Lord! yes, hallowed love divine!
Who, ever in thyself completely blest,
Unconscious of a want,
Who from thyself alone, and at thy will,
Bright with beignant flames,
Without the aid of matter or of form,

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Oh Horny Night

Erotic parody of the Christmas classic, O Holy Night

Oh horny night
My lover's glow in the dark condom is brightly shining
It is the night of my first sweet orgasm's birth
Long do we plan to lay panting and lustfully moaning
Till the dawn appears
We will make the most of what this night's worth

A thrill of desire
Our sweaty bodies rejoice
For yonder breaks thru my hymen a new and glorious moaning

Oh how he adores
When before my man
I fall to my knees
Oh hear the rising of erotic voices
Oh on this night so divine
Oh on this night when a virgin's first orgasm is born
Oh with a man so very sexy and divine
Oh on this night, this night so very delicious and divine

Pantie lines my man shall break
So gentle and caring will be my lover
And in shouting out his name shall my fears shall cease
Sweet groans of joy together we'll share in greatful chorus as we
Explore intimate secrets inside and out
Moaning one another's names

Oh my lord!
Don't ever let him
Don't ever let him stop
Oh no oh no
All the sweet and tender things he is doing
On this night, oh on this night so delicious and divine
Oh no oh no
On this night, on this night so delicious and divine
Oh no oh no
On this night, on this night so delicious and divine

2008 Ramona Thompson

poem by Ramona Thompson
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Anactoria

MY LIFE is bitter with thy love; thine eyes
Blind me, thy tresses burn me, thy sharp sighs
Divide my flesh and spirit with soft sound,
And my blood strengthens, and my veins abound.
I pray thee sigh not, speak not, draw not breath;
Let life burn down, and dream it is not death.
I would the sea had hidden us, the fire
(Wilt thou fear that, and fear not my desire?)
Severed the bones that bleach, the flesh that cleaves,
And let our sifted ashes drop like leaves.
I feel thy blood against my blood: my pain
Pains thee, and lips bruise lips, and vein stings vein.
Let fruit be crushed on fruit, let flower on flower,
Breast kindle breast, and either burn one hour.
Why wilt thou follow lesser loves? are thine
Too weak to bear these hands and lips of mine?
I charge thee for my life’s sake, O too sweet
To crush love with thy cruel faultless feet,
I charge thee keep thy lips from hers or his,
Sweetest, till theirs be sweeter than my kiss:
Lest I too lure, a swallow for a dove,
Erotion or Erinna to my love.
I would my love could kill thee; I am satiated
With seeing thee live, and fain would have thee dead.
I would earth had thy body as fruit to eat,
And no mouth but some serpent’s found thee sweet.
I would find grievous ways to have thee slain,
Intense device, and superflux of pain;
Vex thee with amorous agonies, and shake
Life at thy lips, and leave it there to ache;
Strain out thy soul with pangs too soft to kill,
Intolerable interludes, and infinite ill;
Relapse and reluctation of the breath,
Dumb tunes and shuddering semitones of death.
I am weary of all thy words and soft strange ways,
Of all love’s fiery nights and all his days,
And all the broken kisses salt as brine
That shuddering lips make moist with waterish wine,
And eyes the bluer for all those hidden hours
That pleasure fills with tears and feeds from flowers,
Fierce at the heart with fire that half comes through,
But all the flower-like white stained round with blue;
The fervent underlid, and that above
Lifted with laughter or abashed with love;
Thine amorous girdle, full of thee and fair,
And leavings of the lilies in thine hair.
Yea, all sweet words of thine and all thy ways,
And all the fruit of nights and flower of days,
And stinging lips wherein the hot sweet brine
That Love was born of burns and foams like wine,

[...] Read more

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Channel Crossing

Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone,
Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas whence only the sun was gone:
Soft and sweet as the sky they smiled, and bade man welcome: a dim sweet hour
Gleamed and whispered in wind and sea, and heaven was fair as a field in flower,
Stars fulfilled the desire of the darkling world as with music: the star-bright air
Made the face of the sea, if aught may make the face of the sea, more fair.
Whence came change? Was the sweet night weary of rest? What anguish awoke in the dark?
Sudden, sublime, the strong storm spake: we heard the thunders as hounds that bark.
Lovelier if aught may be lovelier than stars, we saw the lightnings exalt the sky,
Living and lustrous and rapturous as love that is born but to quicken and lighten and die.
Heaven's own heart at its highest of delight found utterance in music and semblance in fire:
Thunder on thunder exulted, rejoicing to live and to satiate the night's desire.
And the night was alive and an-hungered of life as a tiger from toils cast free:
And a rapture of rage made joyous the spirit and strength of the soul of the sea.
All the weight of the wind bore down on it, freighted with death for fraught:
And the keen waves kindled and quickened as things transfigured or things distraught.
And madness fell on them laughing and leaping; and madness came on the wind:
And the might and the light and the darkness of storm were as storm in the heart of Ind.
Such glory, such terror, such passion, as lighten and harrow the far fierce East,
Rang, shone, spake, shuddered around us: the night was an altar with death for priest.
The channel that sunders England from shores where never was man born free
Was clothed with the likeness and thrilled with the strength and the wrath of a tropic sea.
As a wild steed ramps in rebellion, and rears till it swerves from a backward fall,
The strong ship struggled and reared, and her deck was upright as a sheer cliff's wall.
Stern and prow plunged under, alternate: a glimpse, a recoil, a breath,
And she sprang as the life in a god made man would spring at the throat of death.
Three glad hours, and it seemed not an hour of supreme and supernal joy,
Filled full with delight that revives in remembrance a sea-bird's heart in a boy.
For the central crest of the night was cloud that thundered and flamed, sublime
As the splendour and song of the soul everlasting that quickens the pulse of time.
The glory beholden of man in a vision, the music of light overheard,
The rapture and radiance of battle, the life that abides in the fire of a word,
In the midmost heaven enkindled, was manifest far on the face of the sea,
And the rage in the roar of the voice of the waters was heard but when heaven breathed free.
Far eastward, clear of the covering of cloud, the sky laughed out into light
From the rims of the storm to the sea's dark edge with flames that were flowerlike and white.
The leaping and luminous blossoms of live sheet lightning that laugh as they fade
From the cloud's black base to the black wave's brim rejoiced in the light they made.
Far westward, throned in a silent sky, where life was in lustrous tune,
Shone, sweeter and surer than morning or evening, the steadfast smile of the moon.
The limitless heaven that enshrined them was lovelier than dreams may behold, and deep
As life or as death, revealed and transfigured, may shine on the soul through sleep.
All glories of toil and of triumph and passion and pride that it yearns to know
Bore witness there to the soul of its likeness and kinship, above and below.
The joys of the lightnings, the songs of the thunders, the strong sea's labour and rage,
Were tokens and signs of the war that is life and is joy for the soul to wage.
No thought strikes deeper or higher than the heights and the depths that the night made bare,
Illimitable, infinite, awful and joyful, alive in the summit of air--
Air stilled and thrilled by the tempest that thundered between its reign and the sea's,
Rebellious, rapturous, and transient as faith or as terror that bows men's knees.

[...] Read more

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Crafted By The Feeding

It would be nice to know,
The sharing of 'true' love.
You know,
The goosebump giving kind?
With a value placed on its emphasis.
With a value traced,
To the root of it.

So nice it would be to observe,
A decreasing of opposition.
With an erasing of that element done...
To having everyone come together,
And end conflict.
As a mission that benefits.

~What exists after the 'experiment' of humanity?
Should we continue to explore the premise of this? ~

Where is the justice received within restricted limits?
When did one's right to breathe become a matter for debate?
Who are those people who satiate,
Upon beliefs...
That are crafted by the feeding of hypocrisies?
What barbarian that has risen form the depths of rocks...
Deciding their self destruction should be a global affair.
Who are these specimens portraying themselves as human beings?

It would be nice to know,
The sharing of 'true' love.
You know,
The goosebump giving kind?
With a value placed on its emphasis.
With a value traced,
To the root of it.
Simplistic and not manipulated,
By those of self hatred.

Where is the justice received within restricted limits?
When did one's right to breathe become a matter for debate?
Who are those people who satiate,
Upon beliefs...
That are crafted by the feeding of hypocrisies?

Should they be thrown a bone and told to move on?
To be chased back into the wild from where they came.
Or...
Should they be muzzled to hush and caged?
And 'then' thrown a bone?
Leaving them 'again' in darkness.
With their suspicions of the light kept in isolation.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Entertaining the Absence of Logic

There are still those who are amply baited,
Who remain over medicated...
With hallucinations they satiate.
And prescribed just the right mix,
Of delusions to keep them fixed.
With a bombardment of mental distractions...
To ensure denial and truth is resisted.

There are still those who are amply baited,
Who remain over medicated...
With hallucinations they satiate.
The time to awaken their minds has passed.
Addicted to fantasize and this will last.
As they have been treated to dismiss,
All elements of reality in their consciousness.

Confirming with validation the admittance of conflict.
Entertaining the absence of logic and common sense.
Numbed and insisting this existence persists.
Entertaining the absence of logic and common sense.
Numbed and insisting this existence persists.
Entertaining the absence of logic and common sense.
Confirming with validation the admittance of conflict.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Leaving A Lofty Place

No pedestal should be loved so great,
To satiate a promising of a permanence determined.

Appreciating an arrivial done,
To acknowledge one day an end will come...
With a feeling of an accomplishment,
That came to one as a surprise.
Although leaving a lofty place to be replaced,
Can bring tears to eyes...
To those who try to fly even higher.

No pedestal should be loved so great,
To satiate a promising of a permanence determined.
Although leaving a lofty place to be replaced,
Can bring tears to eyes...
To those who try to fly even higher.

'Who do we have here? '

~We had to put a strait jacket on this one.
They believed that using the superglue,
Would keep them sitting on top forever.~

'Oh well...
Some are more graceful than others,
Upon their departures.
Don't you think the strait jacket is a bit severe? '

~It took hours to pry this one loose for the pedestal.
We didn't want to take any chances,
Of having a suicide on our hands.~

'Geeessshh.
Let's hope the next one is more gracious.
Is the raffle set to pick another one? '

~Yep.
We're ready when you are.~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pandemonium

Who but he,
Could create such pandemonium.
A flickering light that had burned out of sight.
And yet so beloved and giving.

Who but he,
Can stir unbelievable fantasies.
To secure and keep you interested,
For almost a half of a century.

Pushed into the limelight.
And made to thrill.
Made to keep producing...
To fulfill someone else's will.

Who but he,
Could create such pandemoneum?
And if looks could kill,
Each one initiated satiated...
Monstrous appetites for his love.

And somehow he knew this would grow even brighter.
After the sight of his flame was gone.
But he would make sure his flame would burn on!
And on.
And on.
And on.
With a brighter intensity sought!
Too much of him,
Is still 'sizzling' in vaults!

'It's pandemonium,
On and on.
And the beast he has created...
Is there to satiate.

It's pandemonium,
On and on.
To thrill and satisfy,
To make sure no one is denied.

'It's pandemonium,
On and on.
And he has done his best...
Now he must have his peace and rest.

'It's pandemonium,
On and on.
And with his every step...
He made sure everywhere,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pre-Medicated

Looking around and observing those once inflated,
By temptations that elated.
And draped some with sugarplumes on their plate!
And couldn't wait to prance around...
With easily obtained 'things' either given or found,
To satiate a frosting licked...
Off an everlasting cake!
Almost!
They received a 'breezy' coasting to boast!
And they did...
Until their glides hit thorns with splinters on skids.
Turning a boasted lust into toast!

Pre-medicated.
From a charaded fate.
It seems today heartbreak is the maker.
It has taken too long,
For my peace of mind to come.
And I am surprised I have not run...
From all the moaning around me,
Being done!

Pre-medicated,
From dismissed drips.
Sobbing to rob a smile from a grinner.
This happy frame of mind is mine to keep.
My bubble didn't pop on me...
To find my pockets emptied deep.
With creditors hounding me out of a peaceful sleep.
Weeping bluesy party poopers,
Losing treasures from them...
To find themselves now in and on the streets.
And that ain't pretty!
Especially if you had been one of those...
Who laughed at others and showed no pity,
Walking around in tattered clothes...
Among the exposed in urban cities.

Pre-medicated.
From a charaded fate.
It seems today heartbreak is the maker.
It has taken too long,
For my peace of mind to come.
And I am surprised I have not run...
From all the moaning around me,
Being done!

And what they 'had' they bragged was high class.
Either leased or rented...
They then had the cash!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Stuff Is Blatant

My observations aren't created.
Rarely embellished are they envisioned.

I see what I see.
And hear what I hear.
Ignoring what is there,
I do not make that decision.

I am one of those probing nosey people.
Wanting to comprehend with a reason,
To question 'why'?
I can be analytical if I wish.
But what I observe...
There is little need for it.

This stuff is blatant!
For open eyes to satiate.
Blatant with a rawness,
Hard for some to digest.
I guess that is why so many folks,
Delude themselves with pretentions.
Preferring lives fantasized,
To moralize what upsets.

This stuff is blatant,
Oh yes.
There in black and white!
But I understand why,
Some choose to camouflage this in disguise.
So much truth conflicts with a resistance to reality.
And reality is much despised.

This stuff is blatant!
For open eyes to satiate.
Blatant with a rawness,
Hard for some to digest.
I guess that is why so many folks,
Delude themselves with pretentions.
Preferring lives fantasized,
To moralize what upsets.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Orlando Furioso Canto 8

ARGUMENT
Rogero flies; Astolpho with the rest,
To their true shape Melissa does restore;
Rinaldo levies knights and squadrons, pressed
In aid of Charles assaulted by the Moor:
Angelica, by ruffians found at rest,
Is offered to a monster on the shore.
Orlando, warned in visions of his ill,
Departs from Paris sore against his will.

I
How many enchantresses among us! oh,
How many enchanters are there, though unknown!
Who for their love make man or woman glow,
Changing them into figures not their own.
Nor this by help of spirits from below,
Nor observation of the stars is done:
But these on hearts with fraud and falsehood plot,
Binding them with indissoluble knot.

II
Who with Angelica's, or rather who
Were fortified with Reason's ring, would see
Each countenance, exposed to open view,
Unchanged by art or by hypocrisy.
This now seems fair and good, whose borrowed hue
Removed, would haply foul and evil be.
Well was it for Rogero that he wore
The virtuous ring which served the truth to explore!

III
Rogero, still dissembling, as I said,
Armed, to the gate on Rabican did ride;
Found the guard unprepared, not let his blade,
Amid that crowd, hang idle at his side:
He passed the bridge, and broke the palisade,
Some slain, some maimed; then t'wards the forest hied;
But on that road small space had measured yet,
When he a servant of the fairy met.

IV
He on his fist a ravening falcon bore,
Which he made fly for pastime every day;
Now on the champaign, now upon the shore
Of neighbouring pool, which teemed with certain prey;
And rode a hack which simple housings wore,
His faithful dog, companion of his way.
He, marking well the haste with which he hies,
Conjectures truly what Rogero flies.

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poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Orlando Furioso Canto 9

ARGUMENT
So far Orlando wends, he comes to where
He of old Proteus' hears the cruel use
But feels such pity for Olympia fair,
Wronged by Cymosco, who in prison mews
Her plighted spouse, that ere he makes repair
Further, he gives her hope to venge the abuse:
He does so, and departs; and with his spouse
Departs Bireno, to repeat his vows.

I
What cannot, when he has a heart possess'd
This false and cruel traitor Love? since he
Can banish from Orlando's faithful breast
Such tried allegiance and due loyalty?
Wise, full of all regards, and of the blest
And glorious church the champion wont to be,
Now, little for himself or uncle, driven
By a vain love, he cares, and less for heaven.

II
But I excuse him well, rejoiced to know
I have like partner in my vice: for still
To seek my good I too am faint and slow,
But sound and nimble in pursuit of ill.
The count departs, disguised in sable show,
Nor for so many friends, with froward will,
Deserted cares; and comes where on the plain
Are camped the hosts of Afric and of Spain;

III
Rather uncamped: for, in less troops or more,
Rains under shed and tree had driven the band.
Here ten, there twenty, seven or eight, or four,
Near or further off, Orlando scanned.
Each sleeps, oppressed with toil and wearied sore;
This stretched on earth, that propped upon his hand:
They sleep, and many might the count have slain,
Yet never bared his puissant Durindane.

IV
So generous is Orlando's heart, he base
Esteems it were to smite a sleeping foe.
Now this he seeks, and now that other place;
Yet cannot track his lady, high or low.
If he finds any one in waking case,
Sighing, to him he paints her form and show;
Then prays him that for courtesy, he where
The damsel is, will reach him to repair.

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poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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