’Twas not the unburied bones, which where the dogs
And crows had strewn them, lay amid the field
Bleaching in sun or shower, that wrung his heart
With keenest anguish: ’twas when he beheld
The turban’d traitor shew his shameless front
In the open eye of Heaven, ... the renegade,
On whose base brutal nature unredeem’d
Even black apostacy itself could stamp
No deeper reprobation, at the hour
Assign’d fall prostrate; and unite the names