Tisiphone hauls the convict, grieved then
For old triumphs; in her right hand the scourge,
In her left snakes. She screams the while to urge
Her savage pair of sisters to make haste
From banks of dim Cocytus for a feast!
The Trials living men may not attend,
Or the dire chastisements in which they end,
But—for so much is lawful—thou shalt see
The Prison’s threshold.
At a sign from me,