Isabella; Or, The Pot of Basil
LX.

John Keats

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Yet they contriv'd to steal the Basil-pot,

And to examine it in secret place;

The thing was vile with green and livid spot,

And yet they knew it was Lorenzo's face:

The guerdon of their murder they had got,

And so left Florence in a moment's space,

Never to turn again.- Away they went,

With blood upon their heads, to banishment.

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