He said, and trampled down, with all the force
Of his left foot, and spurned the wretched corse;
Then snatched the shining belt, with gold inlaid—
The belt Eurytion's artful hands had made,
}
{ Where fifty fatal brides, expressed to sight,
{ All in the compass of one mournful night,
{ Deprived their bridegrooms of returning light.
In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore
Those golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.