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XXI
Sonnet

On the Death of his Father

Let not the inhabitants of Hell despair,
For one's got out who seemed to be locked in;
And Cecco's the poor devil that I mean,
Who thought for ever and ever to be there.
But the leaf's turned at last, and I declare
That now my state of glory doth begin:
For Messer Angiolieri's slipped his skin,
Who plagued me, summer and winter, many a year.
Make haste to Cecco, Sonnet, with a will,
To him who no more at the Abbey dwells;
Tell him that Brother Henry's half dried up.
He'll never more be down-at-mouth, but fill
His beak at his own beck, till his life swells
To more than Enoch's or Elijah's scope.
 

It would almost seem as if Cecco, in his poverty, had at last taken refuge in a religious house under the name of Brother Henry (Frate Arrigo), and as if he here meant that Brother Henry was now decayed, so to speak, through the resuscitation of Cecco. (See Introduction to Part I., p. 307.)

In the original words, “Ma di tal cibo imbecchi lo suo becco,” a play upon the name of Becchina seems intended, which I have conveyed as well as I could.

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