The valley all did swimme with streames of bloud,
So great that time a slaughter was there made:
It staynde the mighty mouthes of Nilus floud,
And on the shoares you might bloud wetshod wade:
My piners eke were prest with showle and spade
T’interre the dead, a monstrous trench that fill,
And on them [scarce all] dead, they rearde a mighty hill.
41.
But then desiring glory more to get
By Parthian name, which erst my father had,