Sudden he stops—his eye is fixed—away—

Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear:

Now is thy time, to perish, or display

The skill that yet may check his mad career!

With well-timed croupe[91] the nimble coursers veer;

On foams the Bull, but not unscathed he goes;

Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear:

He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes;

Dart follows dart—lance, lance—loud bellowings speak his woes.