Speak through me, spirit of poetry, of the righteous rage of Luigi, of how it rained upon the lord of a house of false healers, sending him to face judgment in the court of Pluton, his body wept over by the mighty of the nation while the poor and sick looked on. Speak, oh goddess, of his sojourn in the wilderness, how he stalked the wilds of the country from western to eastern shores in search of his quarry. What divine quarrel sent him on his quest, name abandoned and face hidden, pursued by the Furies?
