"And, for he venteth not, nor slakes his mood, By foul abuse upon the carcase done, Among the women, a large multitude, He springs, and there shows mercy unto none.
Mown are we with his impious sword, as strewed Is grass with scythe, when dried by summer sun.
There is no 'scape; for straightways of our train Are full a hundred maimed, and thirty slain.