Where when we came with sp’rite infus’d from heauen, We through the walles did force our dreadfull way, The mightie towne into our hands was giuen, The captiue foes in pitifull dismay, With teares bemoan’d the imminent decay Of their strong walles, which Perseus so renown’d Had long before erected from the ground. 54. Thence our triumphant standards we aduance To Syria-ward with _Godfrey_ for our guide, Where on the way, with seruice of my lance In many a fight against the aduerse side, I with fresh strength our fainting host suppli’d, And forc’d the Pagan _Pyrrus_ from the field, Who fled, and made faire Antioch wals his shield. 55. Whom we pursu’d, and by the siluer streames Of swift Orontes, where the king of light Vpon our armes did cast his golden beames, Our troopes did tracke the foe-men, turn’d to flight, Till Antioch towers shot vp themselues in sight, Whose pride we menac’d with victorious armes, And shooke it in long siege with loud alarmes. 56. Nine times the pale-fac’d queene of peacefull night, Did lose that siluer lustre in her wane, Which she receiu’d from Phœbus cheerefull sight, And nine times did her brothers light againe Renue that losse, which she did erst sustaine, While Antioch walles our armie did enclose, And stood in daily skirmish with the foes. 57. In the ninth month, vpon the topfull brow Of the towne-gate, the flag of truce did waue, The captaine _Pyrrus_ haughtie heart did bow, The citie stoopt her pride, and for to saue Her selfe from spoile, her gates wide open gaue, Whose wealth, as due reward of our long toile To th’vniuersall host, was giuen for spoile. 58. Should I assay to tell each conquest wonne, Which at that time the christian host did crowne, Or bring to light each high atchieuement done, Before we could attaine that sacred towne, Which God’s sonne’s sepulchre doth so renowne, Our muse, though willing all at large to show, Yet were too weake such taske to vndergo. 59. See how the Persian fronts vs in the field, Vnder the sway of whose huge horse-arm’d host, The earth with bowing backe doth seeme to yeeld, Whose troopes in number infinite doth boast Our swift decay, ere we do crosse their coast, Hemming vs round, in hope t’enrich their hands, With noble conquest on our conquering bands, 60.