In the Venetians’ arsenal as boils
Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear
Their unsound vessels; for th’ inclement time
Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while
His bark one builds anew, another stops
The ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage;
One hammers at the prow, one at the poop;
This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,
The mizen one repairs and main-sail rent
So not by force of fire but art divine
Boil’d here a glutinous thick mass, that round
Lim’d all the shore beneath.  I that beheld,
But therein nought distinguish’d, save the surge,
Rais’d by the boiling, in one mighty swell
Heave, and by turns subsiding and fall.  While there
I fix’d my ken below, “Mark! mark!” my guide
Exclaiming, drew me towards him from the place,
Wherein I stood.  I turn’d myself as one,
Impatient to behold that which beheld
He needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans,
That he his flight delays not for the view. 
Behind me I discern’d a devil black,
That running, up advanc’d along the rock. 
Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake! 
In act how bitter did he seem, with wings
Buoyant outstretch’d and feet of nimblest tread! 
His shoulder proudly eminent and sharp
Was with a sinner charg’d; by either haunch
He held him, the foot’s sinew griping fast.

“Ye of our bridge!” he cried, “keen-talon’d fiends! 
Lo! one of Santa Zita’s elders!  Him
Whelm ye beneath, while I return for more. 
That land hath store of such.  All men are there,
Except Bonturo, barterers:  of ‘no’
For lucre there an ‘aye’ is quickly made.”

Him dashing down, o’er the rough rock he turn’d,
Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos’d
Sped with like eager haste.  That other sank
And forthwith writing to the surface rose. 
But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge,
Cried “Here the hallow’d visage saves not:  here
Is other swimming than in Serchio’s wave. 
Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not,
Take heed thou mount not o’er the pitch.”  This said,
They grappled him with more than hundred hooks,
And shouted:  “Cover’d thou must sport thee here;
So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch.”

E’en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms,
To thrust the flesh into the caldron down
With flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top.

Me then my guide bespake:  “Lest they descry,
That thou art here, behind a craggy rock
Bend low and screen thee; and whate’er of force
Be offer’d me, or insult, fear thou not: 
For I am well advis’d, who have been erst
In the like fray.”  Beyond the bridge’s head
Therewith he pass’d, and reaching the sixth pier,
Behov’d him then a forehead terror-proof.

With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth
Upon the poor man’s back, who suddenly
From whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush’d
Those from beneath the arch, and against him
Their weapons all they pointed.  He aloud: 
“Be none of you outrageous:  ere your time
Dare seize me, come forth from amongst you one,