III.
All the inhuman deeds which wrought by hand
Of Moor, or Turk, or Tartar ever were,
(Yet not by the Venetians’ ill command,
That evermore the praise of justice bear,)
Were practised by that foul and evil band
Of soldiers, who their mercenaries are.
Of those so many fires not now I tell
Which on our farms and pleasant places fell.
IV.
Though a foul vengeance in that blow was meant
Mainly at you, who being at Cæsar’s side,
When Padua by his leaguering host was pent,
’Twas known, that oft, through you, was turned aside
More than one ravening flame, and oft was spent
The fire, in fane and village blazing wide:
What time the destined mischief ye withstood,
As to your inborn courtesy seemed good.
V.
This will I pass, nor their so many more
Discourteous and despiteous doings tell,
Save one alone, whereat from rock-stone hoar
Whene’er the tale is told warm tears might well.
That day you sent your family before,
Thither, my lord, where, under omens fell,
Your foes into a well protected seat,
Abandoning their barks, had made retreat.
