Carlo Martello ritorna dalla battaglia di Poitiers [English translation]

King Charles was returning from the war.

His land welcomes him,

crowning him with a laurel.

In the hot spring sun

flashes the suit of armor

of the victorious Sire.

The blood of the prince and the Moor

redden the crest,

of identical color.

But more than the wounds of the body,

Charles felt

the yearning for love.

“If eagerness for glory and a thirst for honor

extinguish war for the victor,

it allows you not a moment to pursue love.

"One, then, who imposes on the gentle wife

the chastity belt - alas it is heavy -

in battle can run the risk of losing the key.”

Thus complains the Christian king.

The grain bows down and

flowers gather about.

The mirror of the clear fountain

reflects, proud in his saddle,

the victor of the Moors.

When here in the water is formed,

marvelous vision,

the symbol of love -

in the fullness of the long blond braids

the breast intermingles,

naked in broad daylight.

“Never was seen something more beautiful,

never did I catch such a maid,”

said King Charles, dismounting quickly from his saddle.

“But oh, Knight, come no closer,

that which you seek is already the joy of another.

Quench your thirst from some easier spring.”

Surprised by a response so sharp,

feeling put down,

King Charles stopped.

But greater than honor was the power of abstinence.

Trembling, his brown helm

the King lifted off.

This was the secret weapon

by Charles often used

in dire straights -

to the woman appeared a big nose

and the face of a goat,

but it was her majesty.

“If you were not my sovereign,” -

Charles takes off his heavy sword -

“I wouldn’t conceal the desire to run far away."

"But since you are my Lord,” -

Charles frees himself from the prison of his armor -

“I must give myself over bare to every shame.”

He was indeed a valiant knight,

and even at that juncture

was covered again with honor.

And, conjoined at the end of the duel,

uncertain, the saddle

he tried to remount.

Quickly the maiden harpooned him.

Suddenly a bill

she presents to her Lord.

“Ah, just because you are my Lord,

it’s five thousand lira,

a special price.”

“It’s ever possible, son of a bitch,

that the adventures in this realm

should all end up with big whores.

"Even the price, then, can be criticized.

I remember well that before I left

there were lower prices of three thousand lira.”

Thus spoken, he acted like a scoundrel -

with the leap of a lion

he mounted his steed.

Whipping the horse as if it were a donkey,

through the wisteria and elderberries

the king disappeared.

King Charles returned from the war.

His land welcomes him,

crowning him with a laurel.

In the hot spring sun

flashes the suit of armor

of the victorious Sire.