And grieving sore.  The just are two in number,
But they neglected.  Av’rice, envy, pride,
Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all
On fire.”  Here ceas’d the lamentable sound;
And I continu’d thus:  “Still would I learn
More from thee, farther parley still entreat. 
Of Farinata and Tegghiaio say,
They who so well deserv’d, of Giacopo,
Arrigo, Mosca, and the rest, who bent
Their minds on working good.  Oh! tell me where
They bide, and to their knowledge let me come. 
For I am press’d with keen desire to hear,
If heaven’s sweet cup or poisonous drug of hell
Be to their lip assign’d.”  He answer’d straight: 
“These are yet blacker spirits.  Various crimes
Have sunk them deeper in the dark abyss. 
If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them. 
But to the pleasant world when thou return’st,
Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there. 
No more I tell thee, answer thee no more.”

This said, his fixed eyes he turn’d askance,
A little ey’d me, then bent down his head,
And ’midst his blind companions with it fell.

When thus my guide:  “No more his bed he leaves,
Ere the last angel-trumpet blow.  The Power
Adverse to these shall then in glory come,
Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair,
Resume his fleshly vesture and his form,
And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rend
The vault.”  So pass’d we through that mixture foul
Of spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhile
Touching, though slightly, on the life to come. 
For thus I question’d:  “Shall these tortures, Sir! 
When the great sentence passes, be increas’d,
Or mitigated, or as now severe?”

He then:  “Consult thy knowledge; that decides
That as each thing to more perfection grows,
It feels more sensibly both good and pain. 
Though ne’er to true perfection may arrive
This race accurs’d, yet nearer then than now
They shall approach it.”  Compassing that path
Circuitous we journeyed, and discourse
Much more than I relate between us pass’d: 
Till at the point, where the steps led below,
Arriv’d, there Plutus, the great foe, we found.

CANTO VII

“Ah me!  O Satan!  Satan!” loud exclaim’d
Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm: 
And the kind sage, whom no event surpris’d,
To comfort me thus spake:  “Let not thy fear
Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none
To hinder down this rock thy safe descent.” 
Then to that sworn lip turning, “Peace!” he cried,

“Curs’d wolf! thy fury inward on thyself
Prey, and consume thee!  Through the dark profound
Not without cause he passes.  So ’t is will’d
On high, there where the great Archangel pour’d
Heav’n’s vengeance on the first adulterer proud.”

As sails full spread and bellying with the wind
Drop suddenly collaps’d, if the mast split;
So to the ground down dropp’d the cruel fiend.