Fatti i cazzi tuoi, ca campi cent'anni.
I – Epilogue
The entries here do classify with all
Official zeal what I encountered when
I journeyed from the grand and erudite
Venetian-wide republic to the west
To stop in striking Paris. Travelled there
I did in company so ample vast –
Sebastiano Iaconelli, Lord
And Doge of Venice with a crowd of dear
Yet common friends.
Within this work there are
No warnings nor critiques – but rather just
A written recognition of our trip.
You will hate what lies herein, and poor
I do encourage to indulge your mind
No more. Modesty you will not have
And I shall contribute no censorship.
So let it be. My prologue stands before
I hurl myself all spitting, cursing in
The face of God, though I shall guide you through
This Hell, your Virgil am I not. Choose
To listen, I will speak – but you will hate
What lies herein, and should you choose to step
With caution, blindly t’wards progression, shall
I call you mad; a fool so surely born.
No true prediction can be made, the tale
Will ravage you into submission. Let
Us see how long you stand against my work,
For you will hate what lies herein. Farewell.
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