Here with a cockatrice's dead-killing eye (541)
He rouseth up himself and makes a pause; (542)
While she, the picture of pure piety, (543)
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws, (544)
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, (546)
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.