That destiny should this day to our hands
Deliver him; short would be his sufferings then;
And we right joyfully should in one hour
Behold our work accomplish’d, and his race
Extinct.
Thus these in mockery and in thoughts
Of bloody triumph, to the future blind,
Indulged the scornful vein; nor deem’d that they
Whom to the sword’s unsparing edge they doom’d,
Even then in joyful expectation pray’d