Canto

1     1|       this plight,~And makes a tepid fountain of his eyes;~And,
2    24|       little depth: of blood a tepid tide~To his feet descending,
3    30| Balisarda back,~Out sprang the tepid blood of crimson stain;~
4    36|       are unpent,~Which with a tepid breath from seaward blow,~
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