That Emperour is now returned to Aix.
The felon Guene, all in his iron chains
Is in that town, before the King's Palace;
Those serfs have bound him, fast upon his stake,
In deer-hide thongs his hands they've helpless made,
With clubs and whips they trounce him well and baste:
He has deserved not any better fate;
In bitter grief his trial there he awaits.