When he had spoke, the sinner rais’d his hands
Pointed in mockery, and cried:  “Take them, God! 
I level them at thee!” From that day forth
The serpents were my friends; for round his neck
One of then rolling twisted, as it said,
“Be silent, tongue!” Another to his arms
Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself
So close, it took from them the power to move. 
     Pistoia!  Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt
To turn thee into ashes, cumb’ring earth
No longer, since in evil act so far
Thou hast outdone thy seed?  I did not mark,
Through all the gloomy circles of the’ abyss,
Spirit, that swell’d so proudly ’gainst his God,
Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes.  He fled,
Nor utter’d more; and after him there came
A centaur full of fury, shouting, “Where
Where is the caitiff?” On Maremma’s marsh
Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch
They swarm’d, to where the human face begins. 
Behind his head upon the shoulders lay,
With open wings, a dragon breathing fire
On whomsoe’er he met.  To me my guide: 
“Cacus is this, who underneath the rock
Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood. 
He, from his brethren parted, here must tread
A different journey, for his fraudful theft
Of the great herd, that near him stall’d; whence found
His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace
Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on
A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt.” 
     While yet he spake, the centaur sped away: 
And under us three spirits came, of whom
Nor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim’d;
“Say who are ye?” We then brake off discourse,
Intent on these alone.  I knew them not;
But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one
Had need to name another.  “Where,” said he,
“Doth Cianfa lurk?” I, for a sign my guide
Should stand attentive, plac’d against my lips
The finger lifted.  If, O reader! now
Thou be not apt to credit what I tell,
No marvel; for myself do scarce allow
The witness of mine eyes.  But as I looked
Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet
Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: 
His midmost grasp’d the belly, a forefoot
Seiz’d on each arm (while deep in either cheek
He flesh’d his fangs); the hinder on the thighs
Were spread, ’twixt which the tail inserted curl’d
Upon the reins behind.  Ivy ne’er clasp’d
A dodder’d oak, as round the other’s limbs
The hideous monster intertwin’d his own. 
Then, as they both had been of burning wax,
Each melted into other, mingling hues,
That which was either now was seen no more. 
Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns,
A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black,
And the clean white expires.  The other two
Look’d on exclaiming:  “Ah, how dost thou change,
Agnello!  See!  Thou art nor double now,
Nor only one.”  The two heads now became