Then came they to the foul and loathsome lake.
Dark, deep, and miry, of a dreadful hue,
Where was the aged man that never stinted
To carry bundles of the names imprinted.
This was the man, whom (as I told before)
Nature and custom so swift of foot had made,
He never rested, but ran evermore.
And with his coming he did use his trade;
A heap of names within his cloak he bare,
And in the river did them all unlade;