When vanish’d the two furious shades, on whom
Mine eye was held, I turn’d it back to view
The other cursed spirits.  One I saw
In fashion like a lute, had but the groin
Been sever’d, where it meets the forked part. 
Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs
With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch
Suits not the visage, open’d wide his lips
Gasping as in the hectic man for drought,
One towards the chin, the other upward curl’d.

“O ye, who in this world of misery,
Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain,”
Thus he began, “attentively regard
Adamo’s woe.  When living, full supply
Ne’er lack’d me of what most I coveted;
One drop of water now, alas!  I crave. 
The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes
Of Casentino, making fresh and soft
The banks whereby they glide to Arno’s stream,
Stand ever in my view; and not in vain;
For more the pictur’d semblance dries me up,
Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh
Desert these shrivel’d cheeks.  So from the place,
Where I transgress’d, stern justice urging me,
Takes means to quicken more my lab’ring sighs. 
There is Romena, where I falsified
The metal with the Baptist’s form imprest,
For which on earth I left my body burnt. 
But if I here might see the sorrowing soul
Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother,
For Branda’s limpid spring I would not change
The welcome sight.  One is e’en now within,
If truly the mad spirits tell, that round
Are wand’ring.  But wherein besteads me that? 
My limbs are fetter’d.  Were I but so light,
That I each hundred years might move one inch,
I had set forth already on this path,
Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew,
Although eleven miles it wind, not more
Than half of one across.  They brought me down
Among this tribe; induc’d by them I stamp’d
The florens with three carats of alloy.”

“Who are that abject pair,” I next inquir’d,
“That closely bounding thee upon thy right
Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep’d
In the chill stream?”—­“When to this gulf I dropt,”
He answer’d, “here I found them; since that hour
They have not turn’d, nor ever shall, I ween,
Till time hath run his course.  One is that dame
The false accuser of the Hebrew youth;
Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. 
Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out,
In such a cloud upsteam’d.”  When that he heard,
One, gall’d perchance to be so darkly nam’d,
With clench’d hand smote him on the braced paunch,
That like a drum resounded:  but forthwith
Adamo smote him on the face, the blow
Returning with his arm, that seem’d as hard.

“Though my o’erweighty limbs have ta’en from me
The power to move,” said he, “I have an arm
At liberty for such employ.”  To whom
Was answer’d:  “When thou wentest to the fire,
Thou hadst it not so ready at command,
Then readier when it coin’d th’ impostor gold.”