"You see," (pursued that warder,) "how with dead Covered is Ghiaradada's green champaign.
It seems each city opes her gates through dread;
And Venice scarce her freedom can maintain.
You see he suffers not the Church's head, Passing the narrow confines of Romagne, Modena from Ferrara's duke to reave;
Who would not to that prince a remnant leave.
