And his right-hand loose—how clever!
For this can stab up the stomach's soft,
While the left-hand grasps the pastern.
A rise on the elbow, and—now 's the time
Or never: this turn 's the last turn!
I shall dare to place myself by God
Who scanned—for he does—each feature
Of the face thrown up in appeal to him
By the agonizing creature.
Nay, I hear plain words: "Thy gift brings this!"