“Bold Amycus from the robb’d vestry brings The chalices of heaven, and holy things Of precious weight: a sconce that hung on high, With tapers fill’d, to light the sacristy, Torn from the cord, with his unhallow’d hand, He threw amid the Lapithaean band. On Celadon the ruin fell, and left His face of feature, and of form bereft: So, when some brawny sacrificer knocks, Before an altar led, an offer’d ox, His eyeballs, rooted out, are thrown to ground; His nose, dismantled, in his mouth is found; His jaws, cheeks, front, one undistinguished wound.

“This Belates, the avenger, could not brook, But, by the foot, a maple board he took, And hurl’d at Amycus: his chin it bent Against his chest, and down the centaur sent; Whom, sputtering bloody teeth, the second blow Of his drawn sword despatch’d to shades below.