Giuseppe Belli
The Blacksmith
Sonnet 1,406: Er ferraro
To keep ma wife, twa sisters and fowre weans,
I’m ilka morn, by starlicht, in the smiddy;
till starlicht sees the last dunt on ma stiddy,
aa day I rick ma back and risk ma banes.
Whit, think ye, I hae gaithert fir ma pains,
and whan I cannae staund, sae stoun’d and giddy,
whit has it brocht me in the shape of ready
cash? Jist thirty groats to stech their wames.
I’ll stop thair, Mr Vincent, fir ma pairt:
to think about this comedy-affair
that some hae aa, some nocht, garrs me loss hairt.
Aweill, ye sweit bluid till ye’re on yer knees;
meanwhile some Ruler, sitting on a chair,
gies ae scrape of the pen, and it’s aa he’s.
Translated by Robert Garioch
Page(s) 31-32
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