This famous Italian poet of the thirteenth century lived at Verona, on a pension from Prince Scaliger,[9] but so moderate, that poor as he was, he could scarcely exist. [9] From whom Julius Cæsar Scaliger, the great critic, pretended to be descended, and from the princes of Verona of the same name. He had been a Cordelier, but left his monkish habit for the world. To conceal his real origin he sojourned in France. ❦ Translation of the petition sent by the wife of Almas Ali Cawn, who was lately seized and put to death for political purposes in India. To the High and Mighty Servant of the most powerful Prince George, King of Great Britain, his most lowly and humble slave comes praying for mercy for the father of her children. Most mighty Sir, May the blessing of thy God ever await thee! May the sun of glory shine round thy head! May the gates of plenty, honour, and happiness be always open to thee and thine! May no sorrows distress thy days! May no grief disturb thy nights! May the pillow of peace kiss thy cheek! The pleasures of imagination attend thy dreams! And when length of time makes thee tired of earthly joys, and the curtain of death gently closes round the last sleep of human existence, May the angels of thy God attend thy bed, and take care that thy expiring lamp of life shall not receive one wide blast to hasten its extinction. O! hearken to the voice of distress, And grant the petition of thy servant: Spare, oh! spare the father of my children, the partner of my bed, my husband, my all that’s dear. Consider, oh! consider, he did not become what he is by iniquity, and that what he possesses was the inheritance of a long line of flourishing ancestors, Who, in those smiling days, when the intruders of Great Britain were not heard of in the fertile plains of Indostan, reaped their harvest in quiet, and enjoyed their patrimony unmolested. Think, oh! think, that the God whom thou worshippest delighteth not in the blood of the innocent; remember thy own commandment, “_Thou shalt not kill_,” and obey the order of Heaven. Give me back my Almas Ali Cawn, and take all our wealth. Strip us of our jewels and precious stones, of our gold and silver, but take not away the life of my husband. Innocence is sealed on his brow, And the milk of human kindness flows round his heart. Let us wander through the deserts, let us become tillers and labourers on the delightful spot of which he was once the master: But spare, oh! mighty Sir, spare his life! Let not the instrument of death be lifted against him, for he has committed _no crime_. Accept those treasures from gratitude, which at present thou takest by force; we will remember thee in our prayer, and forget we were once rich and powerful. My children, the children of my Almas Ali, send up their petitions for the life of him who gave them life. They beseech from thee the author of their existence. By that humanity we are told glows in the breasts of Europeans;