Quietly through the town they rode, jog-jog;
'Ten, twenty, thirty,—curse the catalogue
Of burnt Guelf houses! Strange, Taurello shows
Not the least sign of life'—whereat arose
A general growl: 'How? With his victors by?
I and my Veronese? My troops and I?
Receive us, was your word?' So jogged they on,
Nor laughed their host too openly: once gone
Into the trap!"—
Six hundred years ago!