Our virtue easily subdu’d; but free
From his incitements and defeat his wiles. 
This last petition, dearest Lord! is made
Not for ourselves, since that were needless now,
But for their sakes who after us remain.” 
     Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring,
Those spirits went beneath a weight like that
We sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset,
But with unequal anguish, wearied all,
Round the first circuit, purging as they go,
The world’s gross darkness off:  In our behalf
If there vows still be offer’d, what can here
For them be vow’d and done by such, whose wills
Have root of goodness in them?  Well beseems
That we should help them wash away the stains
They carried hence, that so made pure and light,
They may spring upward to the starry spheres. 
     “Ah! so may mercy-temper’d justice rid
Your burdens speedily, that ye have power
To stretch your wing, which e’en to your desire
Shall lift you, as ye show us on which hand
Toward the ladder leads the shortest way. 
And if there be more passages than one,
Instruct us of that easiest to ascend;
For this man who comes with me, and bears yet
The charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him,
Despite his better will but slowly mounts.” 
From whom the answer came unto these words,
Which my guide spake, appear’d not; but ’twas said
     “Along the bank to rightward come with us,
And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toil
Of living man to climb:  and were it not
That I am hinder’d by the rock, wherewith
This arrogant neck is tam’d, whence needs I stoop
My visage to the ground, him, who yet lives,
Whose name thou speak’st not him I fain would view. 
To mark if e’er I knew him? and to crave
His pity for the fardel that I bear. 
I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan horn
A mighty one:  Aldobranlesco’s name
My sire’s, I know not if ye e’er have heard. 
My old blood and forefathers’ gallant deeds
Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot
The common mother, and to such excess,
Wax’d in my scorn of all men, that I fell,
Fell therefore; by what fate Sienna’s sons,
Each child in Campagnatico, can tell. 
I am Omberto; not me only pride
Hath injur’d, but my kindred all involv’d
In mischief with her.  Here my lot ordains
Under this weight to groan, till I appease
God’s angry justice, since I did it not
Amongst the living, here amongst the dead.” 
     List’ning I bent my visage down:  and one
(Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight
That urg’d him, saw me, knew me straight, and call’d,
Holding his eyes With difficulty fix’d
Intent upon me, stooping as I went
Companion of their way.  “O!” I exclaim’d,
     “Art thou not Oderigi, art not thou
Agobbio’s glory, glory of that art
Which they of Paris call the limmer’s skill?”
     “Brother!” said he, “with tints that gayer smile,