O Roderick, when within that argent field
Thou saw’st the rampant Lion, red as if
Upon some noblest quarry he had roll’d,
Rejoicing in his satiate rage, and drunk
With blood and fury? Did the auguries
Which open’d on thy spirit bring with them
A perilous consolation, deadening heart
And soul, yea worse than death, ... that thou through all
Thy checquer’d way of life, evil and good,
Thy errors and thy virtues, had’st but been