“Who are that abject pair,” I next inquir’d, “That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep’d In the chill stream?”—“When to this gulf I dropt,” He answer’d, “here I found them; since that hour They have not turn’d, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam’d.” When that he heard, One, gall’d perchance to be so darkly nam’d, With clench’d hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem’d as hard. “Though my o’erweighty limbs have ta’en from me The power to move,” said he, “I have an arm At liberty for such employ.” To whom Was answer’d: “When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin’d th’ impostor gold.” And thus the dropsied: “Ay, now speak’st thou true. But there thou gav’st not such true testimony, When thou wast question’d of the truth, at Troy.” “If I spake false, thou falsely stamp’dst the coin,” Said Sinon; “I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside.” “Remember,” he replied, “O perjur’d one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt.” “To thine,” return’d the Greek, “witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear’d by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt.” To whom the coiner thus: “Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff’d with moisture. Thou art parch’d, Pains rack thy head, no urging would’st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus’ mirror up.” I was all fix’d to listen, when my guide Admonish’d: “Now beware: a little more, And I do quarrel with thee.” I perceiv’d How angrily he spake, and towards him turn’d With shame so poignant, as remember’d yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall’n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish’d to excuse myself, and all the while Excus’d me, though unweeting that I did. “More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame,” My master cried, “might expiate. Therefore cast All sorrow from thy soul; and if again Chance bring thee, where like conference is held, Think I am ever at thy side. To hear Such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds.” CANTO XXXI The very tongue, whose keen reproof before Had wounded me, that either cheek was stain’d, Now minister’d my cure. So have I heard, Achilles and his father’s javelin caus’d Pain first, and then the boon of health restor’d.