114. ‘De l’empia Babilonia, ond’è fuggita’

From the impious Babylon, from which

all shame has fled, all good is banished,

the house of grief, the mother of error,

I’ve also fled, to prolong my life.

Here I’m alone: and as Love invites me,

culling now rhymes and verse, now herbs and flowers,

I muse to myself, and often reflect

on better times: and that alone delights me.

I don’t care about the crowd, or Fortune,

or myself any longer, or base things,

nor feel the heat within me or without.

I only miss two people: and wish that one

was humbly reconciled to me in heart,

and the other as firm of foot as ever.