Go meet thy death from any hand but mine.
He said, and turn’d aside. Fitliest from me!
Exclaim’d a dreadful voice, as through the throng
Orelio forced his way; fitliest from me
Receive the rightful death too long withheld!
’Tis Roderick strikes the blow! And as he spake,
Upon the traitor’s shoulder fierce he drove
The weapon, well-bestow’d. He in the seat
Totter’d and fell. The Avenger hasten’d on
In search of Ebba; and in the heat of fight