To heaven, as 'twere, have soared this man's two vultures, staggering, dusky hued. The Parcher and the Drier-up, the pair who parch and dry his heart.
I verily have stirred them up like oxen resting after toil. Like two loud-snarling curs, or like two wolves who watch to make their spring:
Like two that thrust, like two that pierce, like two that strike with mutual blows. I bind the conduit of the man or dame who hence hath taken aught.
