And the sinner, who had heard, dissembled not, But unto me directed mind and face, And with a melancholy shame was painted. Then said: “It pains me more that thou hast caught me Amid this misery where thou seest me, Than when I from the other life was taken. What thou demandest I cannot deny; So low am I put down because I robbed The sacristy of the fair ornaments, And falsely once ’twas laid upon another; But that thou mayst not such a sight enjoy, If thou shalt e’er be out of the dark places, Thine ears to my announcement ope and hear: Pistoia first of Neri groweth meagre; 354 Then Florence doth renew her men and manners; Mars draws a vapor up from Val di Magra, 355 Which is with turbid clouds enveloped round, And with impetuous and bitter tempest Over Campo Picen shall be the battle; When it shall suddenly rend the mist asunder, So that each Bianco shall thereby be smitten. And this I’ve said that it may give thee pain.”