The treat and feast when holidays came round,

The daily feast that seemed no treat at all,

Called common by the uncommon fools we were!

Even the sun that used to shine at Rome,

Where is it? Robbed and starved and frozen too,

We will have justice, justice if there be!"

Did not they shout, did not the town resound!

Guido's old lady-mother Beatrice,

Who since her husband, Count Tommaso's death,

Had held sole sway i' the house,—the doited crone