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His Heart, Jumped


   C’mon someone, come here, out in the street!
“What happened, you S.O.B.?” I’ve been robbed!
“Who did it?” One who seems to cut as neatly
as a razor, so cleanly did it rub.
   “Clearly you should’ve given her the sword.”
I’d rather stab myself. “What, are you nuts?”
It confuses me, your choosing this word.
“You poor bum, has she blinded your sockets?”         [Enter Becchina, interrupting . . .]
   Do you see how it looks to anyone aware?
Give me what you took! O, God take you, go!
But make it slow— I want to weep a fountain
   that you’re leaving. With sadistic tears?
May your wounds be stitched with further pain!
Now who’s killed me? How the hell would I know?        (16)

*

   “Accorri, accorri, accorri, uom, a la strada!”
“Che ha’, fi’ de la putta?” “I’ son rubato.”
“Chi t’ha rubato?” “Una che par che rada
come rasoi’, sì m’ha netto lasciato.”
   “Or come non le davi de la spada?”
“I’ dare’ anzi a me.” “Or se’ ’mpazzato?”
“Non so che ’l dà.” “Così mi par che vada:
Or t’avess’ella cieco, sciagurato?”
   “E vedi che ne pare a que’ che ’l sanno?”
“Di’ quel che tu mi rubi!” “Or va’ con Dio!
Ma ha anda’ pian, ch’i’ vo’ pianger lo danno,
   Ché ti diparti.” “Con animo rio?”
“Tu abbi ’l danno con tutto ’l malanno!”
“Or chi m’ha morto?” “E che diavol sacc’io?”        (XVI)