Ran off, and he was doomed to follow them
Through all the ages of eternity.
Then neared we Minos, who aloud did roar;
I would describe him, but I do not dare,
So terrible the memory of his form
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Still rises up before me. Next I saw
One in a treadmill tramping wearily,
But not allowed to stop. And on his brow
A minus mark was stamped by burning brand.
"He was the maker of a foul machine,
A sophist, who pretended that he knew
The way to mark a student less than nothing;
He will be grinding when the day of doom is here."
Straight as a tangent from that spot we went,
And I perceived the air grow icy cold,
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