For charity console us, and unfold
Whence comest, and who art thou? for the grace
Accorded thee in us the wonder wakes
Due unto things which ne'er before had place.”
And I: “Through middle Tuscany there flows
A brook whose founts in Falterona spring,
Nor do an hundred miles its current close:
From that stream's banks this body of mine I bring:
'Twere vain to tell you how my title goes;
For yet my name hath not much heralding.”