babes that, portionless of the sweets of life, were snatched 5
from the breast by the black death-day’s tyranny, and
whelmed in untimely night. Next to them are those
who were done to death by false accusation. Yet let
none think that the lot of award or the judge’s sentence
are wanting here. There sits Minos,[220] the president, urn 10
in hand: he summons an assembly of the speechless, and
takes cognizance of earthly lives and earthly sins.
Next to them comes the dwelling-place of the sons of
sorrow, who, though guiltless, procured their own death by