Hath struck him, but unable to proceed
Plunges on either side; so saw I plunge
The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim’d: 
“Run to the passage! while he storms, ’t is well
That thou descend.”  Thus down our road we took
Through those dilapidated crags, that oft
Mov’d underneath my feet, to weight like theirs
Unus’d.  I pond’ring went, and thus he spake: 
     “Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin’d steep,
Guarded by the brute violence, which I
Have vanquish’d now.  Know then, that when I erst
Hither descended to the nether hell,
This rock was not yet fallen.  But past doubt
(If well I mark) not long ere He arrived,
Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil
Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds
Such trembling seiz’d the deep concave and foul,
I thought the universe was thrill’d with love,
Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft
Been into chaos turn’d:  and in that point,
Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down. 
But fix thine eyes beneath:  the river of blood
Approaches, in the which all those are steep’d,
Who have by violence injur’d.”  O blind lust! 
O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on
In the brief life, and in the eternal then
Thus miserably o’erwhelm us.  I beheld
An ample foss, that in a bow was bent,
As circling all the plain; for so my guide
Had told.  Between it and the rampart’s base
On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm’d,
As to the chase they on the earth were wont. 
     At seeing us descend they each one stood;
And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows
And missile weapons chosen first; of whom
One cried from far:  “Say to what pain ye come
Condemn’d, who down this steep have journied?  Speak
From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw.” 
     To whom my guide:  “Our answer shall be made
To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come. 
Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash.” 
     Then me he touch’d, and spake:  “Nessus is this,
Who for the fair Deianira died,
And wrought himself revenge for his own fate. 
He in the midst, that on his breast looks down,
Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs’d;
That other Pholus, prone to wrath.”  Around
The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts
At whatsoever spirit dares emerge
From out the blood, more than his guilt allows. 
     We to those beasts, that rapid strode along,
Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth,
And with the notch push’d back his shaggy beard
To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view
Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim’d: 
“Are ye aware, that he who comes behind
Moves what he touches?  The feet of the dead
Are not so wont.”  My trusty guide, who now
Stood near his breast, where the two natures join,
Thus made reply:  “He is indeed alive,
And solitary so must needs by me