Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge,
Gain’d on the dismal shore, that all the woe
Hems in of all the universe.  Ah me! 
Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap’st
New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld! 
Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this?

E’en as a billow, on Charybdis rising,
Against encounter’d billow dashing breaks;
Such is the dance this wretched race must lead,
Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found,
From one side and the other, with loud voice,
Both roll’d on weights by main forge of their breasts,
Then smote together, and each one forthwith
Roll’d them back voluble, turning again,
Exclaiming these, “Why holdest thou so fast?”
Those answering, “And why castest thou away?”
So still repeating their despiteful song,
They to the opposite point on either hand
Travers’d the horrid circle:  then arriv’d,
Both turn’d them round, and through the middle space
Conflicting met again.  At sight whereof
I, stung with grief, thus spake:  “O say, my guide! 
What race is this?  Were these, whose heads are shorn,
On our left hand, all sep’rate to the church?”

He straight replied:  “In their first life these all
In mind were so distorted, that they made,
According to due measure, of their wealth,
No use.  This clearly from their words collect,
Which they howl forth, at each extremity
Arriving of the circle, where their crime
Contrary’ in kind disparts them.  To the church
Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls
Are crown’d, both Popes and Cardinals, o’er whom
Av’rice dominion absolute maintains.”

I then:  “Mid such as these some needs must be,
Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot
Of these foul sins were stain’d.”  He answering thus: 
“Vain thought conceiv’st thou.  That ignoble life,
Which made them vile before, now makes them dark,
And to all knowledge indiscernible. 
Forever they shall meet in this rude shock: 
These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise,
Those with close-shaven locks.  That ill they gave,
And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous world
Depriv’d, and set them at this strife, which needs
No labour’d phrase of mine to set if off. 
Now may’st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain,
The goods committed into fortune’s hands,
For which the human race keep such a coil! 
Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon,
Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls
Might purchase rest for one.”  I thus rejoin’d: 

“My guide! of thee this also would I learn;
This fortune, that thou speak’st of, what it is,
Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?”