Whence sally forth the direful Sisters three,
To do the damage we have cause to fear,
For much they revel in our misery.
[He takes some flocks of hair from the lamb and throws them into the air.
So may the wind make all their projects vain,
And as I now proceed to lave and stain
This shining knife with that pure victim's gore,
With guileless spirit and a purpose plain,
So may Numantia's soil be sprinkled o'er
With Roman blood; and may its reddened sands