The Poet to His Patron
O, Master Anthony, I am in love
With that fine doublet you’ve not given me!
I love, and wish it well as heartily
As ’twere the lady I call “Flower” and “Dove.”
I look on’t front and back—a perfect fit!
The more I look, the more I long for it.
It pleases me, inside and out,
And up and down. Oh! heaven,
That you have only lent me it, not given!
Oh! how I long for it, without a doubt!
When in the morn I see it on my back,
I always think that it must be my own;
That cunning stitchery of herring-bone,
How great a marvel! I am on the rack!
I shall do something desperate,—good lack!
And will not—cannot understand
I must restore it to your hand—
Oh! how I long for it, without a doubt!
Oh! Master Anthony, if you knew how
To set about it, you a faction-chief
Might be. Look at me in this doublet now,—
Am I not gallant?—half a Mars, in brief?
Make up your mind you want it not again,
And I will be your brave,
Your foot-page and your slave,
And walk, with sword on thigh, among your train!
O canzonet!
If thou dost fail this doublet for to get,
Thou well may’st say, I have
Been such a fool, I should be called a knave!
Francesco Berni (1490?–1536).