'Ha!' quoth Don Fuco, with a far-fetched sigh,
470Which all that time was drenched o'er-head in grief,
'Am I to black Cocytus yet drawn nigh?
Where are th' Elysian shades, thou tott'red thief?
Call Rhadamanthus forth, justice I'll have,
Or in his breast my steel shall dig a grave.
Call forth the Furies with their snaky hairs,
Pale-cheeked Erynnis and her sister hags,
Tell Nemesis I'll fetch her down the stairs,
And try what truth dwells in her wrathful brags.