Piozzi asked me on Sunday morning if ever I had seen
them, and could explain them to _him_, for that he heard they were
written by his friend Mr. Locke. The book in which they were
reposited was not ferreted out, however, till Monday night, and on
Tuesday morning I sent him verses and translation: we used to think
the original was Garrick's, I remember."
Translation of the verses written with a knife.
"Taglia Amore un coltello,
Cara, l'hai sentita dire;
Per l'Amore alla Moda,
Esso poco puo soffrire.
Cuori che non mai fur giunti
Pronti stanno a separar,
Cari nodi come i nostri
Non son facili tagliar.
Questo dico, che se spezza
Tua tenera bellezza,
Molto ancor ci restera;
Della mia buona fede
Il Coltello non s'avvede,
Ne di tua gran bonta.
Che tagliare speranze
Ben tutto si puo,
Per piaceri goduti
Oh, questo poi no?
Dolci segni!
Cari pegni!
Di felecita passata,
Non temer la coltellata,
Resterete--Io loro:
Se del caro ben gradita,
Trovo questa donatura,
Via pur la tagliatura
Sol d'Amore sta ferita."
"The power of emptying one's head of a great thing and filling it
with little ones to amuse care, is no small power, and I am proud of
being able to write Italian verses while I am bargaining 150,000_l_.,
and settling an event of the highest consequence to my own and my
children's welfare. David Barclay, the rich Quaker, will treat for
our brewhouse, and the negotiation is already begun.
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