Beneath the surface many people sigh
With lots of little bubbles rising up
As you can see, wherever you cast your eye.
They say, stuck in the mud, "Our minds stayed dark
In the sweet air enlightened by the sun
Inside us was a sort of sluggish smoke.
Now we are sullen in the gloomy mud.
This is the hymn they're gurgling in their gullets
Because they can't sing words out as they should.
So, in a wide arc round the mire, we came--
Between the dry bank and the filthy moist,
Our eyes upon the gulpers-down of slime
The fifth circle, illustrated by Stradanus
Inferno VII 121-129 (Nichols translation)
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