Into the deepe her deare Leander drew,
Where to his loue he sigh’d his last adew.
50.
There on the plaines, where Troye’s sad ruines stand,
Whence Agamemnon’s troopes haue often run,
To shun the furie of great Hector’s hand,
Against the Pagan many deeds were done
Beneath our standard of Ioue’s powerfull sonne,
There all the host, as towards Nice we past,
With spoilefull hands laid all the countrie wast.