Practice Typing

Thy city heapd with envy to the brim, Ay that the measure overflows its bounds, Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin Of gluttny, damned vice, beneath this rain, Een as thou seest, I with fatigue am worn; Nor I sole spirit in this woe. all these Have by like crime incurrd like punishment.