Whom great _Macedo_ vanquisht there in sight, With deepe slaughter, despoyling all his pryde, Pearst through his realmes, and daunted all his might: Duke _Hanniball_ beheld I there besyde, In _Canna’s_ field, victor how hee did ryde, And woefull _Romaynes_ that in vayne withstoode, And consull _Paulus_ couered all in blood. 60. Yet sawe I more the sight at _Trasimene_, And _Treby_[1550] field, and eke when _Hanniball_ And worthy _Scipio_ last in armes were sene Before _Carthago_ gate, to try for all The world’s empyre, to whom it should befall: There saw I _Pompey_, and _Cæsar_ clad in arms, Their hoasts allied and all their ciuill harms: 61. With conquerers hands, forbathde in their owne bloud, And _Cæsar_ weeping ouer _Pompey’s_ head: Yet saw I _Scilla_ and _Marius_ where they stood, Their greate crueltie, and the deepe bloudshed Of frends: _Cyrus_ I saw and his host dead, And howe the queene with greate despite hath flong His head in bloud of them shee ouercome. 62. _Xerxes_, the _Percian_ king, yet sawe I there, With his huge host, that dranke the riuers drye, Dismounted hills, and made the vales vprere, His hoste and all yet sawe I slayne, perdye: _Thebes_ I sawe,[1551] all razde how it did lye In heapes of stones, and _Tyrus_ put to spoyle, With walls and towers flat euened with the soyle. 63. But _Troy_, alas, mee thought, aboue them all, It made myne eyes in very teares consume: When I behelde the woefull werd befall, That by the wrathfull will of gods[1552] was come: And _Ioue’s_ vnmoued sentence and foredoome On _Priam_ king, and on his towne so bent, I could not lin, but I must there lament. 64. And that the more sith desteny was so sterne As, force perforce,[1553] there might no force auayle, But shee must fall: and, by her fall, wee learne, That cities, towers, welth, world, and all shall quaile: No manhood, might, nor nothing mought preuayle, All were there prest full many a prince, and peere, And many a knight that solde his death full deere. 65. Not worthy _Hector_, worthyest of them all, Her hope, her ioy, his force is now for nought: O _Troy_, _Troy_,[1554] there is no boote but bale, The hugie horse within thy walls is brought: Thy turrets fall, thy knights, that whilome fought In armes amid the field, are slayne in bed, Thy gods defylde, and all thy honour dead. 66.