Yet had not proof enough, the pile drave through it and his skull. His brain in blood drown’d, and the man, so late so spiritfull, Fell now quite spiritless to earth. So emptied he the veins Of Pylon, and Ormenus’ lives. And then Leonteüs gains The life’s end of Hippomachus, Antimachus’s son; His lance fell at his girdle-stead, and with his end begun Another end. Leonteüs left him, and through the prease (His keen sword drawn) ran desp’rately upon Antiphates, And lifeless tumbled him to earth. Nor could all these lives quench His fi’ry spirit, that his flame in Menon’s blood did drench, And rag’d up ev’n to Iamen’s, and young Orestes’ life; All heap’d together made their peace in that red field of strife. Whose fair arms while the victors spoil’d, the youth of Ilion (Of which there serv’d the most and best) still boldly built upon The wisdom of Polydamas, and Hector’s matchless strength, And follow’d, fill’d with wondrous spirit, with wish and hope at length, The Greeks’ wall won, to fire their fleet. But, having pass’d the dike, And willing now to pass the wall, this prodigy did strike Their hearts with some delib’rate stay: A high-flown eagle soar’d On their troops’ left hand, and sustain’d a dragon, all engor’d, In her strong seres, of wondrous size, and yet had no such check In life and spirit but still she fought, and turning back her neck So stung the eagle’s gorge, that down she cast her fervent prey Amongst the multitude, and took upon the winds her way, Crying with anguish. When they saw a branded serpent sprawl So full amongst them from above, and from Jove’s fowl let fall, They took it an ostent from him, stood frighted, and their cause Polydamas thought just, and spake: “Hector, you know, applause Of humour hath been far from me; nor fits it, or in war, Or in affairs of court, a man employ’d in public care To blanch things further than their truth, or flatter any pow’r; And therefore for that simple course your strength has oft been sour To me in councils; yet again, what shows in my thoughts best, I must discover. Let us cease, and make their flight our rest For this day’s honour, and not now attempt the Grecian fleet, For this, I fear, will be th’ event, the prodigy doth meet So full with our affair in hand. As this high-flying fowl Upon the left wing of our host, implying our control, Hover’d above us, and did truss within her golden seres A serpent so embru’d and big, which yet, in all her fears, Kept life and fervent spirit to fight, and wrought her own release, Nor did the eagle’s eyry feed; so though we thus far prease Upon the Grecians, and perhaps may overrun their wall, Our high minds aiming at their fleet, and that we much appall Their trusséd spirits; yet are they so serpent-like dispos’d That they will fight, though in our seres, and will at length be los’d With all our outcries, and the life of many a Trojan breast Shall with the eagle fly, before we carry to our nest