Classic Poem

MASTER B ERTUCCIO , you are called to account
That you guard Fazio's life from poison ill:
And every man in Florence tells me still
He has no horse that he can safely mount.
A mighty war-horse worth a thousand pound
Stands in Cremona stabled at his will;
Which for his honoured person should fulfil
Its use. Nay, sir, I pray you be not found
So poor a steward. For all fame of yours
Is cared for best, believe me, when I say: —
Our Florence gives Bertuccio charge of one
Who rides her own proud spirit like a horse;
Whom Cocciolo himself must needs obey;
And whom she loves best, being her strongest son.