2970Till Folco strove and made his noddle leak
Sardonic liquor to new-paint the tiles,
So hasted out, and to the matron gave
The iron porter of Conrado's grave.
Imping his haste, he threads the vaulted lane,
Not wounded by his soles this many a day,
Like those which, when arraigned, a pardon gain
Dare neither at the jail nor gallows stay.
And coming to the postern gate he knocked,
Which at devotion time was always locked.