43
“The field he leaveth to the Conqueror, too glad his life had not been left in fight:
- Follow him all who can; and panick sore lends them not feet, but feather’d wings for flight:
- Their breasts are fillèd with a wild doloùr, for Deaths, for Treasure waste in wanton plight;
- for woe, disgust, and foul dishonour’s soil to see the Victor rev’elling in their spoil.