In those all-healing streams, which from his wounds,
As from perpetual springs, for ever flow’d.
No hart e’er panted for the water-brooks
As Roderick thirsted there to drink and live:
But Hell was interposed; and worse than Hell ...
Yea to his eyes more dreadful than the fiends
Who flock’d like hungry ravens round his head, ...
Florinda stood between, and warn’d him off
With her abhorrent hands, ... that agony
Still in her face, which, when the deed was done,