 | Memorials of Miss Catherine Maria Fanshawe |  |
54
XV. LIBERTY.
A Conversation versified.—Ugo Foscolo speaks.
[_]
The following trilingual harangue was/made at one of Mr. Sotheby's parties in Grosvenor Street, in the Spring of 1818, and was, the next morning, thus faithfully reported.
All men are slave or tyrant from their birth.
To father, mother first, and what is worse
Siamo Schiavi even to the nurse.
'Tis nonsense what they talk. Do you not see,
In the whole word at all, no Liberty?
Thousand of thousand people bold and brave;
But they must eat, le ventre make them slave!
The belly hunger; and the man who fill,
He rule, he task, he tyrannise, he kill.
You who don't want the little piece of bread,
Qual cosa sia, come not in your head,
Nor what they do, the feeder and the fed.
Take all the histories ever writ, and read 'em;
When was equality? and where was freedom?
'Twas not in England when the whole was savage;
'Twas not when civil war made all his ravage.
Those guerres civiles of Commons, Lords and King,
What blood, what strife, what ill, what good they bring!
How hard you fight to get your Magna Charta!
Think of poor Helots when you talk of Sparta!
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Bah! ce n'est rien, remettez-vous à tables.
‘Je fais égorger dix mille hommes to-day,’
'Twas Sylla did it, and 'twas Sylla say.
There was a law to guard the life at Rome
Of the Padrone in his cruel home;
If he was murdered, all the house was slaughtered,
Guilty or innocent, that nothing altered!
Les hommes, les femmes, et les petits enfans,
Tutta la casa! tout ce qui est dedans!
Each prey on other—great fish eat the small;—
Beast, bird, the same,—and mankind eat them all.
Some eat their little ones—three, four, five, six;—
That animal—the mother of the Picks—
Je parle des pourceaux et de la femelle;
Non so, in English, comment cela s'appelle?
L'aragna poi,—she who weaves la sù
Her cobweb on the travée, what she do?
She kill her husband on the wedding day—
She kill him dead, and throw him quite away.
'Tis very true. You see it if you look;
Or you may read the story in the book.”
“Pardon me, sir, I scarcely comprehend
To what result your arguments would tend.”
“Que tout le monde” should labour to be free;
That every man should strive for Liberty.
Ha! Are they moving all? They will not wait.
They go! Ces dames—perhaps 'tis growing late.”
| Memorials of Miss Catherine Maria Fanshawe | |