He thence not land, but sin and infamy, 921 Shall gain, so much more grievous to himself As the more light such damage he accounts. The other, now gone forth, ta’en in his ship, 922 See I his daughter sell, and chaffer for her As corsairs do with other female slaves. What more, O Avarice, canst thou do to us, 923 Since thou my blood so to thyself hast drawn, It careth not for its own proper flesh? That less may seem the future ill and past, I see the flower-de-luce Alagna enter, 924 And Christ in his own Vicar captive made. 925 I see him yet another time derided; I see renewed the vinegar and gall, And between living thieves I see him slain. I see the modern Pilate so relentless, 926 This does not sate him, but without decretal He to the temple bears his sordid sails!