Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Ten of Ten

When we were now right over the last cloister
Of Malebolge, so that its lay-brothers
Could manifest themselves unto our sight,

Diverse lamentings pierced me through and through,
Which with compassion had their arrows barbed,
Whereat mine ears I covered with my hands.

What pain would be, if from the hospitals
Of Valdichiana, 'twixt July and September,
And of Maremma and Sardinia,

All the diseases in one moat were gathered,
Such was it here, and such a stench came from it
As from putrescent limbs is wont to issue.

We had descended on the furthest bank
From the long crag, upon the left hand still,
And then more vivid was my power of sight

One the false woman is who accused Josheph
The other the false Sinon, Greek of Troy;
From acute fever they send forth such reek.

The tenth, and final, Bolgia is for the falsifiers. As in life a disease on society they were, their punishment, here at the bottom of this pit, is to be steeped in illness and disease themselves.


  1. Still don't know where your opinion of Lyric as dishonest comes from. He maliciously withheld information, but I don't think he lied much.