I vote to God that this greatness scares me
and to give a doubloon for a description;
because who does not surprise and wonder
this famous machine, this wealth?
For Jesus Christ alive, every piece
worth more than a million, and that is stain
may this not last a century, oh great Seville!
Rome triumphant in spirit and nobility.
I’ll bet that the soul of the dead
for enjoying this site today has left
the glory where it lives forever.
This heard a bully, and said: “It is true
what does voacé say, sir soldier.
And whoever says otherwise is lying. ”
And then incontinently
stamped the veneer, required the sword,
he looked sideways, went, and there was nothing.
At the catafalque of King Philip II in Seville
I swear to God such grandeur frightens me.
I’d pay good money to describe it well;
for whom would this great structure, all this wealth,
not hold in wonder with its awesome spell?
By Christ alive, each part of it is worth
more than a million; isn’t it a shame
that it won’t last a century – Great Seville! –
triumphant Rome in zeal and noble fame.
I’ll bet the very soul of this here corpse
just to enjoy this spot today has quit
that heaven where he endlessly resides.
A braggart overheard these words and said:
“Oh, Mr. soldier, what you say is true.
And anyone who says it’s not, he lies. ”
And then, quite suddenly,
I have checked his sword with care, pulled down his hat,
he looked away, moved on, and that was that.
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