Resume a body; so (if truth you sing) Death brings long life. Doubtless these northern men, Whom death, the greatest of all fears, affright not, Are blest by such sweet error; this makes them Run on the sword's point, and desire to die, And shame to spare life which being lost is won. You likewise that repuls'd the Caˇc foe, March towards Rome; and you, fierce men of Rhene, 460 Leaving your country open to the spoil. These being come, their huge power made him bold To manage greater deeds; the bordering towns He garrison'd; and Italy he fill'd with soldiers. Vain fame increased true fear, and did invade The people's minds, and laid before their eyes Slaughter to come, and, swiftly bringing news Of present war, made many lies and tales: One swears his troops of daring horsemen fought Upon Mevania's plain, where bulls are graz'd; 470 Other that CÊsar's barbarous bands were spread Along Nar flood that into Tiber falls, And that his own ten ensigns and the rest March'd not entirely, and yet hide the ground; And that he's much chang'd, looking wild and big, And far more barbarous than the French, his vassals; And that he lags[629] behind with them, of purpose, Borne 'twixt the Alps and Rhene, which he hath brought From out their northern parts,[630] and that Rome, He looking on, by these men should be sack'd. 480 Thus in his fright did each man strengthen fame, And, without ground, fear'd what themselves had feign'd. Nor were the commons only struck to heart With this vain terror; but the court, the senate, The fathers selves leap'd from their seats, and, flying, Left hateful war decreed to both the consuls. Then, with their fear and danger all-distract, Their sway of flight carries the heady rout,[631] That in chain'd[632] troops break forth at every port: You would have thought their houses had been fir'd, 490 Or, dropping-ripe, ready to fall with ruin. So rush'd the inconsiderate multitude Thorough the city, hurried headlong on, As if the only hope that did remain To their afflictions were t' abandon Rome. Look how, when stormy Auster from the breach Of Libyan Syrtes rolls a monstrous wave, Which makes the main-sail fall with hideous sound, The pilot from the helm leaps in the sea, And mariners, albeit the keel be sound, 500 Shipwreck themselves; even so, the city left, All rise in arms; nor could the bed-rid parents Keep back their sons, or women's tears their husbands: They stayed not either to pray or sacrifice; Their household-gods restrain them not; none lingered, As loath to leave Rome whom they held so dear: Th' irrevocable people fly in troops. O gods, that easy grant men great estates,