The rest, my predecessors in the guilt
Of simony.  Stretch’d at their length they lie
Along an opening in the rock.  ’Midst them
I also low shall fall, soon as he comes,
For whom I took thee, when so hastily
I question’d.  But already longer time
Hath pass’d, since my souls kindled, and I thus
Upturn’d have stood, than is his doom to stand
Planted with fiery feet.  For after him,
One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive,
From forth the west, a shepherd without law,
Fated to cover both his form and mine. 
He a new Jason shall be call’d, of whom
In Maccabees we read; and favour such
As to that priest his king indulgent show’d,
Shall be of France’s monarch shown to him.”

I know not if I here too far presum’d,
But in this strain I answer’d:  “Tell me now,
What treasures from St. Peter at the first
Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys
Into his charge?  Surely he ask’d no more
But, Follow me!  Nor Peter nor the rest
Or gold or silver of Matthias took,
When lots were cast upon the forfeit place
Of the condemned soul.  Abide thou then;
Thy punishment of right is merited: 
And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin,
Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir’d. 
If reverence of the keys restrain’d me not,
Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet
Severer speech might use.  Your avarice
O’ercasts the world with mourning, under foot
Treading the good, and raising bad men up. 
Of shepherds, like to you, th’ Evangelist
Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves,
With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld,
She who with seven heads tower’d at her birth,
And from ten horns her proof of glory drew,
Long as her spouse in virtue took delight. 
Of gold and silver ye have made your god,
Diff’ring wherein from the idolater,
But he that worships one, a hundred ye? 
Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,
Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower,
Which the first wealthy Father gain’d from thee!”

Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath
Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang
Spinning on either sole.  I do believe
My teacher well was pleas’d, with so compos’d
A lip, he listen’d ever to the sound
Of the true words I utter’d.  In both arms
He caught, and to his bosom lifting me
Upward retrac’d the way of his descent.

Nor weary of his weight he press’d me close,
Till to the summit of the rock we came,
Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier. 
His cherish’d burden there gently he plac’d
Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path
Not easy for the clamb’ring goat to mount.

Thence to my view another vale appear’d

CANTO XX

And now the verse proceeds to torments new,
Fit argument of this the twentieth strain
Of the first song, whose awful theme records
The spirits whelm’d in woe.  Earnest I look’d
Into the depth, that open’d to my view,
Moisten’d with tears of anguish, and beheld
A tribe, that came along the hollow vale,
In silence weeping:  such their step as walk
Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth.