Through some machine, to be so rent and torn.
And, oh, to think that hearts can be so base
As to wish ill to one in such sad case,
And to so great a load of suffering sore
To undertake to add one torment more!
Well-nigh exhausted now, hope almost gone,
The half-dismembered creature still toiled on.
E’en death itself would not, for pity’s sake,
So hideous a thing consent to take;
Or thus it seemed, and so with antics rude