Let any mortal find rest, softer, wherever he can.

We are content with Cupid's delights, authentic and naked--

And with the exquisite creak /crack of the bed as it rocks.


IV

Ask whomever you will but you'll never find out where I'm lodging,

High society's lords, ladies so groomed and refined.

"Tell me, was Werther authentic? Did all of that happen in real life?"

"Lotte, oh where did she live, Werther's only true love?"

How many times have I cursed those frivolous pages that broadcast

Out among all mankind passions I felt in my youth!

Were he my brother, why then I 'd have murdered poor Werther.

Yet his despondent ghost couldn't have sought worse revenge.

That's the way "Marlborough," the ditty, follows the Englishman's travels

Down to Livorno from France, thence from Livorno to Rome,