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,