The kind instructor in these words began: 
“Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now
I’ th’ second round, and shalt be, till thou come
Upon the horrid sand:  look therefore well
Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold,
As would my speech discredit.”  On all sides
I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see
From whom they might have issu’d.  In amaze
Fast bound I stood.  He, as it seem’d, believ’d,
That I had thought so many voices came
From some amid those thickets close conceal’d,
And thus his speech resum’d:  “If thou lop off
A single twig from one of those ill plants,
The thought thou hast conceiv’d shall vanish quite.”

Thereat a little stretching forth my hand,
From a great wilding gather’d I a branch,
And straight the trunk exclaim’d:  “Why pluck’st thou me?”

Then as the dark blood trickled down its side,
These words it added:  “Wherefore tear’st me thus? 
Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast? 
Men once were we, that now are rooted here. 
Thy hand might well have spar’d us, had we been
The souls of serpents.”  As a brand yet green,
That burning at one end from the’ other sends
A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind
That forces out its way, so burst at once,
Forth from the broken splinter words and blood.

I, letting fall the bough, remain’d as one
Assail’d by terror, and the sage replied: 
“If he, O injur’d spirit! could have believ’d
What he hath seen but in my verse describ’d,
He never against thee had stretch’d his hand. 
But I, because the thing surpass’d belief,
Prompted him to this deed, which even now
Myself I rue.  But tell me, who thou wast;
That, for this wrong to do thee some amends,
In the upper world (for thither to return
Is granted him) thy fame he may revive.”

“That pleasant word of thine,” the trunk replied
“Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech
Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge
A little longer, in the snare detain’d,
Count it not grievous.  I it was, who held
Both keys to Frederick’s heart, and turn’d the wards,
Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,
That besides me, into his inmost breast
Scarce any other could admittance find. 
The faith I bore to my high charge was such,
It cost me the life-blood that warm’d my veins. 
The harlot, who ne’er turn’d her gloating eyes
From Caesar’s household, common vice and pest
Of courts, ’gainst me inflam’d the minds of all;
And to Augustus they so spread the flame,
That my glad honours chang’d to bitter woes. 
My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought
Refuge in death from scorn, and I became,
Just as I was, unjust toward myself. 
By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,
That never faith I broke to my liege lord,
Who merited such honour; and of you,
If any to the world indeed return,
Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies
Yet prostrate under envy’s cruel blow.”