Classic Poem

XXXI.

" By Peter! truly thus they say;
The lithe Italian subtly thought
Our German wit could never play
With arms by Latin cunning wrought.

XXXII.

" Thou needs must praise the shrewd device
That wiled him down from Hadrian's Mole.
The Pope absolved me at the price
Of fifty masses for his soul.

XXXIII.

" Not soon shall Rome of freedom speak,
And scorn our distant German crown;
But tell me why I feel so weak,
Or why thy beauty wears a frown? "

XXXIV.

" Full soon thy weakness, King! will end,
And frowns are idle clouds to life;
But say, thou flattering amorous friend,
Did slain Crescentius leave a wife? "

XXXV.

" The slave deserved not woman's smile,
His wife, be sure, was naught to me;
I let my squires their toil beguile
With favors due from such as she.