One's hip he slashed, and split the other's shoulder,

And drove them with their brutal yells to seek

If there might be chirurgeons who could solder

The wounds they richly merited,[464] and shriek

Their baffled rage and pain; while waxing colder

As he turned o'er each pale and gory cheek,

Don Juan raised his little captive from

The heap a moment more had made her tomb.