Sonnet

How every hope of ours raised in vain,

How spoiled the plans we laid so well,

How ignorance throughout the earth doth reign,

Death, who is mistress of us all, can tell.

In song and dance and jousts some pass their days,

Some vow their talents unto gentle arts,

Some hold the world in scorn and all its ways,

Some hide the impulses that move their hearts.

Vain thoughts and wishes, cares of every kind

Greatly upon this erring earth prevail

In various presence after nature's lore;

Fortune doth fashion with inconstant mind,

All things are transient here below and frail,

Death only standeth fast for evermore. (Lorenzo - pag. 463)

(Oliver Bowden - " Assasin's Creed - Renaissance")