While now they’re running to the room,
And seek a light in haste, the sire,
No longer stifling of his ire,
Flies to the couch, where grouping round,
A head, but newly shaved, he found;
Then, as alone, he vengeance breath’d,
The sword within his bosom sheath’d—
The candle ent’ring, when he spied
The bleeding youth, and by his side
The spotless dame, who being fast