That, having power to sin, I turned to God. O thou vain glory of the human powers, How little green upon thy summit lingers, If’t be not followed by an age of grossness! In painting Cimabue thought that he 721 Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry, 722 So that the other’s fame is growing dim. So has one Guido from the other taken 723 The glory of our tongue, and he perchance Is born, who from the nest shall chase them both. 724 Naught is this mundane rumor but a breath Of wind, that comes now this way and now that, And changes name, because it changes side. What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off 725 From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead Before thou left the pappo and the dindi