Couch’d in their own bred hill, that hear a sort of hunter’s shout, And hounds in hot trail coming on, then from their dens break out, Traverse their force, and suffer not, in wildness of their way, About them any plant to stand, but thickets off’ring stay Break through, and rend up by the roots, whet gnashes into air, Which Tumult fills with shouts, hounds, horns, and all the hot affair Beats at their bosoms; so their arms rung with assailing blows, And so they stirr’d them in repulse, right well assur’d that those Who were within, and on the wall, would add their parts, who knew They now fought for their tents, fleet, lives, and fame, and therefore threw Stones from the walls and tow’rs, as thick as when a drift wind shakes Black clouds in pieces, and plucks snow, in great and plumy flakes, From their soft bosoms, till the ground be wholly cloth’d in white; So earth was hid with stones and darts, darts from the Trojan fight, Stones from the Greeks, that on the helms and bossy Trojan shields Kept such a rapping, it amaz’d great Asius, who now yields Sighs, beats his thighs, and in a rage his fault to Jove applies: “O Jove,” said he, “now clear thou show’st thou art a friend to lies, Pretending, in the flight of Greece, the making of it good, To all their ruins, which I thought could never be withstood; Yet they, as yellow wasps, or bees (that having made their nest[2] The grasping cranny of a hill) when for a hunter’s feast Hunters come hot and hungry in, and dig for honey-combs, Then fly upon them, strike and sting, and from their hollow homes Will not be beaten, but defend their labour’s fruit, and brood; No more will these be from their port, but either lose their blood (Although but two against all us) or be our pris’ners made.” All this, to do his action grace, could not firm Jove persuade, Who for the gen’ral counsel stood, and ’gainst his singular brave, Bestow’d on Hector that day’s fame. Yet he and these behave Themselves thus nobly at this port; but how at other ports, And all alongst the stony wall, sole force, ’gainst force and forts, Rag’d in contention ’twixt both hosts, it were no easy thing, Had I the bosom of a God, to tune to life and sing. The Trojans fought not of themselves, a fire from heav’n was thrown That ran amongst them, through the wall, mere added to their own. The Greeks held not their own; weak Grief went with her wither’d hand, And dipp’d it deeply in their spirits, since they could not command Their forces to abide the field, whom harsh Necessity, To save those ships should bring them home, and their good fort’s supply, Drave to th’ expulsive fight they made; and this might stoop them more Than Need itself could elevate, for ev’n Gods did deplore Their dire estates, and all the Gods that were their aids in war, Who, though they could not clear their plights, yet were their friends thus far, Still to uphold the better sort; for then did Polypæt pass A lance at Damasus, whose helm was made with cheeks of brass,