Now fill’d with war, he grasps his sword and shield, To join the common bustle of the field; Where Titus in his burning arms encas’d (Each giddy thought of merriment eras’d) Sends forth his orders with a gentle mien, While bright anticipation cheers the scene. Placidus comes, his foaming courser neighs, Shakes his long mane, and shares his rider’s praise, Who with a party, burning for the fray, Towards the city takes his quick’ning way. The Jews with expectation see him near, The priests convene, and slay the lowing steer. Not so the rebel chieftain’s artful bands, They thirst for blood, and arm their eager hands. Unmindful of the truce Placidus bears, The stately walls soon throng with shafts and spears; Yet still he hastens heedless to the walls, Nor hosts of enemies his soul appals. Great soul! no deep laid treachery he views, And by the wall addresses thus the Jews: “Attend my words—foes, Isr’alites, and men, Brist’ling like tigers pant within their den, When will ye own cool reason’s easy sway? When join in peace, and shun the rude affray? In vain I speak—you shake your gleaming swords, Then hear from me the Roman monarch’s words: Unless you open wide yon rusting gate, Admit and hail him to the regal state, Our ’vengeful army, with a mighty force, Like rolling Tyber in its foaming course, Shall wash away each vestige of your town, And, ’midst the horror, bury your renown; Not one shall live of sire, child, or dame, But on your heads we’ll climb to peace and fame.”