IX.

Thrice blest Verona! since the holy three With their imperial presence shine on thee! Honoured by them, thy treacherous site forgets[el] The vaunted tomb of "all the Capulets!"[311] Thy Scaligers--for what was "Dog the Great," "Can Grande,"[312] (which I venture to translate,) To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too, Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new;[313] Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; 420 And Dante's exile sheltered by thy gate; Thy good old man, whose world was all within Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in;[314] Would that the royal guests it girds about Were so far like, as never to get out! Aye, shout! inscribe![315] rear monuments of shame, To tell Oppression that the world is tame! Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage, The comedy is not upon the stage; The show is rich in ribandry and stars, 430 Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars; Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy, For thus much still thy fettered hands are free!