"You see," (pursued that warder,) "how with dead

  Covered is Ghiaradada's green champaign.

  It seems each city opes her gates through dread;

  And Venice scarce her freedom can maintain.

  You see he suffers not the Church's head,

  Passing the narrow confines of Romagne,

  Modena from Ferrara's duke to reave;

  Who would not to that prince a remnant leave.