The Sonnets Of Michael Angelo Buonarroti And Tommaso Campanella Part 19

x.x.xIV.

_HYPOCRITES._

_Nessun ti venne a dir._

Who comes and saith: 'A Tyrant, lo, am I!'

And, 'I am Antichrist!' what man will swear?

The crafty rogue, hiding his poisonous ware, Sells you what slays your soul, for sanct.i.ty.

Cheats, brigands, prost.i.tutes, and all that fry, Not having fas.h.i.+oned so devout a snare, Appear worse sinners than perhaps they are; For where the craft's small, small's the villainy; You're on your guard. The meek Samaritan Makes way before those guileful Pharisees, Though G.o.d a.s.signed to him the higher place.

Not words nor wonders prove a virtuous man, But deeds and acts. How many deities Hath this false standard given the human race!

x.x.xV.

_SOPHISTS._

_Nessun ti verra a dire._

'Behold, I am a Sophist!' no man saith.

But the true sons of perfidy refined Forge theologic lies the soul to blind, Calling themselves evangels of the faith.

Aretine with his scoundrels blew his breath, And in the cynic orgies boldly joined; His ribald jests had flowers and thorns combined-- A frank fair list including life and death, For fun, not fraud. It shames him to be found Less vile than those who cannot bear to see Their sink of filth laid open to the ground: Wherefore they shut our mouths, our books impound, Garble with lies each sentence that may be Cited to prove their foul hypocrisy.

x.x.xVI.

_AGAINST HYPOCRITES._

_Gli affetti di Pluton._

Deep in their hearts they hide the l.u.s.ts of h.e.l.l: Christ's name is written on their brow, that those Who only view the husk, may not suppose What guile and malice harbour in the sh.e.l.l.

O G.o.d! O Wisdom! Holy Fervour! Well Of strength invincible to strike Thy foes!

Give me the force--my spirit burns and glows-- To strip those idols and to break their spell!

The zeal I bear unto Thy name benign, The love I feel for truth sincere and pure, When such men triumph, make me rend my hair.

How long shall folk this infamy endure-- That _he_ should be held sacred, _he_ divine, Who strips e'en corpses in the graveyard bare?

x.x.xVII.

_ON THE LORD'S PRAYER._

No. I.

_Vilissima progenie._

Ye vile offscourings! with unblus.h.i.+ng face Dare ye claim sons.h.i.+p to our heavenly Sire, Who serve brute vices, crouching in the mire To hounds and conies, beasts that ape our race?

Such truckling is called virtue by the base Hucksters of sophistry, the priest and friar,-- Gilt claws of tyrant brutes,--who lie for hire, Preaching that G.o.d delights in this disgrace.

Look well, ye brainless folk! Do fathers hold Their children slaves to serfs? Do sheep obey The witless ram? Why make a beast your king?

If there are no archangels, let your fold Be governed by the sense of all: why stray From men to wors.h.i.+p every filthy thing?

x.x.xVIII.

_ON THE LORD'S PRAYER._

No. 2.

_Dov' e la liberta._

Where are the freedom and high feats that spring From fatherhood so fair as Deity?

Fleas are no sons of men, although they be Flesh-born: brave thoughts and deeds this honour bring.

If princes great or small seek anything Adverse to good and G.o.d's authority, Which of you dares refuse? Nay, who is he That doth not cringe to do their pleasuring?

So then with soul and blood in verity You serve base gold, vices, and worthless men-- G.o.d with lip-service only and with lies, Sunk in the slough of dire idolatry: If Ignorance begat these errors, then To Reason turn for sons.h.i.+p and be wise!

x.x.xIX.

_ON THE LORD'S PRAYER._

No. 3.

_Allor potrete orar._

Then shall ye pray with every hour that flies; Thy kingdom come, and let Thy will be done On earth as in the spheres above the sun, When all we hoped and wished shall bless our eyes.

Poets shall see their Age of Gold arise, Fairer than feigned in hymn or orison; Yea, all the realm by Adam's sin undone Shall be restored in sinless Paradise.

Philosophers shall govern for their own That perfect commonwealth whereof they write, The which on earth as yet was never known.

Judah to Sion shall return with might Of greater wonders than shook Pharaoh's throne, From Babylon, to bless the prophets' sight.

XL.

_A PROPHECY OF JUDGMENT._

No. 1.

_THE REIGN OF ANTICHRIST._

_Mentre l'acquila invola._