Gustave Dore
Gustave Dore
The Ammonite and Moabite Armies Are Destroyed
The Inferno, Canto 18, lines 130-132: Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip Answer’d her doting paramour that ask’d, ‘Thankest me much!’
The Inferno, Canto 28, lines 116-119: By the hair It bore the sever’d member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look’d at us and said, “Woe’s me!”
The Inferno, Canto 7, lines 118-119: “Now seest thou, son! The souls of those, whom anger overcame.”
The Inferno, Canto 7, lines 8-9: "Curs’d wolf! thy fury inward on thyself Prey, and consume thee!”
The Inferno, Canto 28, lines 30,31: Now mark how I do rip me: lo! How is Mahomet mangled.
The Inferno, Canto 25, lines 59-61: The other two Look’d on exclaiming: “Ah, how dost thou change, Agnello!”
"Ser Brunetto! And are ye here?" (Canto XV., lines 28-29)
Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe! (Canto XVIII., line 38)
The Inferno, Canto 13, line 120: “Haste now,” the foremost cried, “now haste thee death!”
The Inferno, Canto 18, line 38: Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!
Call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, (Canto XXVIII., lines 69-70)
The Inferno, Canto 29, lines 52-56: Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record.
The Inferno, Canto 18, lines 116-117: “Why greedily thus bendest more on me, Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?”
The Inferno, Canto 7, lines 65-67: “Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon, Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls Might purchase rest for one.”
The Inferno, Canto 14, line 37-39: Unceasing was the play of wretched hands, Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off The heat, still falling fresh.
The Inferno, Canto 28, lines 69-72: call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold’st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo
The Inferno, Canto 29, lines 79-81: The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap’d from the bream or fish of broader mail.
The Inferno, Canto 21, lines 50-51: This said, They grappled him with more than hundred hooks
The Inferno, Canto 22, line 70: In pursuit He therefore sped, exclaiming; “Thou art caught.”
The Inferno, Canto 30, lines 33-34: “That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vent he still his spite.”
The Inferno, Canto 24, lines 89-92: Amid this dread exuberance of woe Ran naked spirits wing’d with horrid fear, Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide, Or heliotrope to charm them out of view.
