Because of Semele Was fierce ’gainst all that were to Thebes allied, As had been proved by many an instance dire; So mad grew Athamas His wife as she with children twain drew near, Each hand by one encumbered, loud he cried: ‘Be now the nets outspread, that I may snare Cubs with the lioness at yon strait ground!’ And stretching claws of all compassion bare He on Learchus seized and swung him round, And shattered him upon a flinty stone; Then she herself and the other burden drowned. And when by fortune was all overthrown The Trojans’ pride, inordinate before— Monarch and kingdom equally undone— Hecuba, Polyxena, when dolorous she beheld The body of her darling Polydore And spent herself in barking like a hound; So by her sorrow was her reason quelled. But never yet was Trojan fury Nor that of Thebes, to sting so cruelly Brute beasts, far less the human form to wound, As two pale naked shades were stung, whom I Saw biting run, like swine when they escape Famished and eager from the empty sty. Capocchio One fixed his fangs, and hauling at him made His belly on the stony pavement scrape. The Aretine ‘That imp is Gianni Schicchi, Rabid, thus trimming others.’ ‘O!’ I prayed, ‘So may the teeth of the other one of those Not meet in thee, as, ere she pass from sight, Thou freely shalt the name of her disclose.’ And he to me: ‘That is the ancient sprite Of shameless Myrrha, For him who got her, past all bounds of right. Came near to him deception to maintain; So he, departing yonder from our eyes, That he the Lady of the herd might gain, Bequeathed his goods by formal testament While he Buoso Donate’s And when the rabid couple from us went, Who all this time by me were being eyed, Upon the rest ill-starred I grew intent; And, fashioned like a lute, I one espied, Had he been only severed at the place Where at the groin men’s lower limbs divide. The grievous dropsy, swol’n with humours base, Which every part of true proportion strips Till paunch grows out of keeping with the face, Compelled him widely ope to hold his lips Like one in fever who, by thirst possessed, Has one drawn up while the other chinward slips. ‘O ye! Nor know I why, are in this world of dool, On Master Adam Living, I all I wished enjoyed at will; Now lust I for a drop of water cool. The water-brooks that down each grassy hill Of Casentino to the Arno fall And with cool moisture all their courses fill— Always, and not in vain, I see them all; Because the vision of them dries me more Than the disease ’neath which my face grows small. For rigid justice, me chastising sore, Can in the place I sinned at motive find To swell the sighs in which I now deplore. There lies Romena, where of the money coined And therefore left my body burnt behind. But could I see here Guido’s Or Alexander’s, or their brother’s, I For Fonte Branda Mad souls with power to wander through the crowd— What boots it me, whose limbs diseases tie?
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