Bristling on end, like furious boar,
Or some sea-urchins wash’d on shore;
Whilst Veia, by remorse unstay’d,
Groans at her toil, as she with spade
That flags not digs a pit, wherein
The boy imbedded to his chin,
With nothing seen save head and throat,
Like those who in the water float,
Shall dainties see before him set,
A maddening appetite to whet,