I leave no friend on whom they may rebound,
Hardly a name behind me in the land,
Being a stranger: all the more behooves
That I regard how altered were the case
With natives of the country, Florentines
On whom the like mischance should fall: the roots
O' the tree survive the ruin of the trunk—
No root of mine will throb, you understand.
But I had predecessors, Florentines,
Accused as I am now, and punished so—