See, see, your murderer is in view:
With purple hands and reeking knife,
He strips the skin yet warm with life.
Your quartered sires, your bleeding dams,
The dying bleat of harmless lambs,
Call for revenge. O stupid race!
The heart that wants revenge is base.’
‘I grant,’ an ancient Ram replies,
‘We bear no terror in our eyes.
Yet think us not of soul so tame,