"Where Childibert the boundary hills has crost, Heading what bands of France and captains, see;
Yet shall no more than baffled Clovis boast The conquest or the spoil of Lombardy.
Heaven's sword descends so heavy on his host.
Choked with their bodies every road shall be;
So pined with watery flux and withering sun, That, out of ten, unharmed returns not one."