273 The day a judgement (Er giorno der giudizzio)
Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale
Four huge angels mouthen bugles at their lips,
’ll take their stand, wun on each corner, an then,
Wunce they’ve blared’em, in a loud voice they’ll begin
Ta summen us all out, say’n: “Step up, next wun, quick.”
Then there’ll tumble out a rigmarole a men,
A beeline a skeledons frum earth, on all fours,
Ta take back the shape n’ face they had before,
Like scurryen chicks’t huddle aboud a broody hen.
An this broody hen’ll be our blessèd Lord on hi,
Who’ll muster two packs out, wun wite, wun black:
Wun fa the cellar, the uther fa that roof in the sky.
An at last, a jangle uv angels’ll swarm in’a site
An, just like ya was toddlen off ta hit the sack,
They’ll snuff out all’a the candles, an, . .nidey nite.
The sonnet is translated into "Strine", the dialect spoken in Australia
down to the 1960s.