I, heartening thee, had helped thee to prevail. 60 But that ungrateful and malignant race Which down from Fiesole[465] came long ago, And still its rocky origin betrays, Will for thy worthiness become thy foe; And with good reason, for 'mong crab-trees wild It ill befits the mellow fig to grow. By widespread ancient rumour are they styled A people blind, rapacious, envious, vain: See by their manners thou be not defiled. Fortune reserves such honour for thee, fain 70 Both sides[466] will be to enlist thee in their need; But from the beak the herb shall far remain. Let beasts of Fiesole go on to tread Themselves to litter, nor the plants molest, If any such now spring on their rank bed, In whom there flourishes indeed the blest Seed of the Romans who still lingered there When of such wickedness 'twas made the nest.' 'Had I obtained full answer to my prayer, You had not yet been doomed,' I then did say, 80 'This exile from humanity to bear. For deep within my heart and memory Lives the paternal image good and dear Of you, as in the world, from day to day, How men escape oblivion you made clear; My thankfulness for which shall in my speech While I have life, as it behoves, appear. I note what of my future course you teach. Stored with another text[467] it will be glozed By one expert, should I that Lady reach. 90 Yet would I have this much to you disclosed: If but my conscience no reproaches yield, To all my fortune is my soul composed. Not new to me the hint by you revealed; Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel apace, Even as she will; the clown[468] his mattock wield.' Thereon my Master right about[469] did face, And uttered this, with glance upon me thrown: 'He hears[470] to purpose who doth mark the place.' And none the less I, speaking, still go on 100 With Ser Brunetto; asking him to tell Who of his band[471] are greatest and best known. And he to me: 'To hear of some is well, But of the rest 'tis fitting to be dumb, And time is lacking all their names to spell. That all of them were clerks, know thou in sum, All men of letters, famous and of might; Stained with one sin[472] all from the world are come. Priscian[473] goes with that crowd of evil plight, Francis d'Accorso[474] too; and hadst thou mind 110 For suchlike trash thou mightest have had sight Of him the Slave[475] of Slaves to change assigned From Arno's banks to Bacchiglione, where His nerves fatigued with vice he left behind. More would I say, but neither must I fare Nor talk at further length, for from the sand I see new dust-clouds[476] rising in the air, I may not keep with such as are at hand. Care for my _Treasure_;[477] for I still survive In that my work.