The cause out to me, that myself may see,
And unto others show it:  for in heaven
One places it, and one on earth below.” 
     Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh,
“Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind;
And thou in truth com’st from it.  Ye, who live,
Do so each cause refer to heav’n above,
E’en as its motion of necessity
Drew with it all that moves.  If this were so,
Free choice in you were none; nor justice would
There should be joy for virtue, woe for ill. 
Your movements have their primal bent from heaven;
Not all; yet said I all; what then ensues? 
Light have ye still to follow evil or good,
And of the will free power, which, if it stand
Firm and unwearied in Heav’n’s first assay,
Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well,
Triumphant over all.  To mightier force,
To better nature subject, ye abide
Free, not constrain’d by that, which forms in you
The reasoning mind uninfluenc’d of the stars. 
If then the present race of mankind err,
Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there. 
Herein thou shalt confess me no false spy. 
     “Forth from his plastic hand, who charm’d beholds
Her image ere she yet exist, the soul
Comes like a babe, that wantons sportively
Weeping and laughing in its wayward moods,
As artless and as ignorant of aught,
Save that her Maker being one who dwells
With gladness ever, willingly she turns
To whate’er yields her joy.  Of some slight good
The flavour soon she tastes; and, snar’d by that,
With fondness she pursues it, if no guide
Recall, no rein direct her wand’ring course. 
Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb;
A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing view
Might mark at least the fortress and main tower
Of the true city.  Laws indeed there are: 
But who is he observes them?  None; not he,
Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock,
Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof. 
Therefore the multitude, who see their guide
Strike at the very good they covet most,
Feed there and look no further.  Thus the cause
Is not corrupted nature in yourselves,
But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the world
To evil.  Rome, that turn’d it unto good,
Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beams
Cast light on either way, the world’s and God’s. 
One since hath quench’d the other; and the sword
Is grafted on the crook; and so conjoin’d
Each must perforce decline to worse, unaw’d
By fear of other.  If thou doubt me, mark
The blade:  each herb is judg’d of by its seed. 
That land, through which Adice and the Po
Their waters roll, was once the residence
Of courtesy and velour, ere the day,
That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may pass
Those limits, whosoe’er hath left, for shame,
To talk with good men, or come near their haunts. 
Three aged ones are still found there, in whom