"But yes d 'Etna near, that the thunders of him | and its terrible ruins | they bombard him every day. He goes out sometimes | from this mountain to the aura another cloud | mixed with black smoke and red hot | sparks, that of ash and pitch | they make disturbances and rumbles, and sway with tremors | lucid flames vibrate from time to time | that go grazing to discolour the stars; | and sometimes, the very bowels of himself | torn apart by themselves, huge rocks and rocks | liquefied and burned to the heavens vomendo | right from the bottom it rumbles and bubbles."