That noble soul was so impatient, only
  At the sweet sound of his own native land,
  To make its citizen glad welcome there;

And now within thee are not without war
  Thy living ones, and one doth gnaw the other
  Of those whom one wall and one fosse shut in!

Search, wretched one, all round about the shores
  Thy seaboard, and then look within thy bosom,
  If any part of thee enjoyeth peace!

What boots it, that for thee Justinian
  The bridle mend, if empty be the saddle?
  Withouten this the shame would be the less.

Ah! people, thou that oughtest to be devout,
  And to let Caesar sit upon the saddle,
  If well thou hearest what God teacheth thee,

Behold how fell this wild beast has become,
  Being no longer by the spur corrected,
  Since thou hast laid thy hand upon the bridle.

O German Albert! who abandonest
  Her that has grown recalcitrant and savage,
  And oughtest to bestride her saddle-bow,

May a just judgment from the stars down fall
  Upon thy blood, and be it new and open,
  That thy successor may have fear thereof;

Because thy father and thyself have suffered,
  By greed of those transalpine lands distrained,
  The garden of the empire to be waste.

Come and behold Montecchi and Cappelletti,
  Monaldi and Fillippeschi, careless man!
  Those sad already, and these doubt-depressed!

Come, cruel one! come and behold the oppression
  Of thy nobility, and cure their wounds,
  And thou shalt see how safe is Santafiore!

Come and behold thy Rome, that is lamenting,
  Widowed, alone, and day and night exclaims,
  "My Caesar, why hast thou forsaken me?"

Come and behold how loving are the people;
  And if for us no pity moveth thee,
  Come and be made ashamed of thy renown!

And if it lawful be, O Jove Supreme!
  Who upon earth for us wast crucified,
  Are thy just eyes averted otherwhere?

Or preparation is 't, that, in the abyss
  Of thine own counsel, for some good thou makest
  From our perception utterly cut off?

For all the towns of Italy are full
  Of tyrants, and becometh a Marcellus
  Each peasant churl who plays the partisan!

My Florence! well mayst thou contented be
  With this digression, which concerns thee not,
  Thanks to thy people who such forethought take!

Many at heart have justice, but shoot slowly,
  That unadvised they come not to the bow,
  But on their very lips thy people have it!

Many refuse to bear the common burden;
  But thy solicitous people answereth
  Without being asked, and crieth: "I submit."

Now be thou joyful, for thou hast good reason;
  Thou affluent, thou in peace, thou full of wisdom!
  If I speak true, the event conceals it not.

Athens and Lacedaemon, they who made
  The ancient laws, and were so civilized,
  Made towards living well a little sign

Compared with thee, who makest such fine-spun
  Provisions, that to middle of November
  Reaches not what thou in October spinnest.

How oft, within the time of thy remembrance,
  Laws, money, offices, and usages
  Hast thou remodelled, and renewed thy members?

And if thou mind thee well, and see the light,
  Thou shalt behold thyself like a sick woman,
  Who cannot find repose upon her down,

But by her tossing wardeth off her pain.