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Hey folks. I hope
it’s not gauche to summon again the spirits of dead Vision feuds. Maybe the Muscovites for Equal Rights are
still chilling in the wings—they at least ought to appreciate this. In any case I can’t resist a little
necromancy, as I came upon a dandy bit in Dante this evening that I thought I
might as well share with you all.
It’s from Purgatorio, Canto XXIII, and when I read it I can’t help but
think of this past summer:
Brother of mine, what wilt thou have
me say?
This hour shall not be very old
perhaps
Ere time shall bring what I foresee
to-day:
A pulpit interdict, no less, which
claps
Down on our brazen jades of
Florentines
Flaunting unveiled the bosom and the
paps.
What female Turk or Berber e’er showed signs
Of needing to be covered up by force
Of spiritual or
other disciplines?
But could these wantons know what
Heaven’s swift course
Prepare for them, they’d have
their mouths ajar
Already, fit to bellow themselves hoarse.
Cheers,
Prester John