Reach’d to the lowest of the bed beneath,
When over us the steep they reach’d; but fear
In him was none; for that high Providence,
Which plac’d them ministers of the fifth foss,
Power of departing thence took from them all. 
     There in the depth we saw a painted tribe,
Who pac’d with tardy steps around, and wept,
Faint in appearance and o’ercome with toil. 
Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down
Before their eyes, in fashion like to those
Worn by the monks in Cologne.  Their outside
Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view,
But leaden all within, and of such weight,
That Frederick’s compar’d to these were straw. 
Oh, everlasting wearisome attire! 
     We yet once more with them together turn’d
To leftward, on their dismal moan intent. 
But by the weight oppress’d, so slowly came
The fainting people, that our company
Was chang’d at every movement of the step. 
     Whence I my guide address’d:  “See that thou find
Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known,
And to that end look round thee as thou go’st.” 
     Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice,
Cried after us aloud:  “Hold in your feet,
Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air. 
Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish.” 
     Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake: 
“Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed.” 
     I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look
Impatient eagerness of mind was mark’d
To overtake me; but the load they bare
And narrow path retarded their approach. 
     Soon as arriv’d, they with an eye askance
Perus’d me, but spake not:  then turning each
To other thus conferring said:  “This one
Seems, by the action of his throat, alive. 
And, be they dead, what privilege allows
They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?”
     Then thus to me:  “Tuscan, who visitest
The college of the mourning hypocrites,
Disdain not to instruct us who thou art.” 
     “By Arno’s pleasant stream,” I thus replied,
“In the great city I was bred and grew,
And wear the body I have ever worn.
but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief,
As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks? 
What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?”
“Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue,”
One of them answer’d, “are so leaden gross,
That with their weight they make the balances
To crack beneath them.  Joyous friars we were,
Bologna’s natives, Catalano I,
He Loderingo nam’d, and by thy land
Together taken, as men used to take
A single and indifferent arbiter,
To reconcile their strifes.  How there we sped,
Gardingo’s vicinage can best declare.” 
     “O friars!” I began, “your miseries—­”
But there brake off, for one had caught my eye,
Fix’d to a cross with three stakes on the ground: 
He, when he saw me, writh’d himself, throughout