The pursuit made at euery puffe of winde:
135.
Euen so these wretched men, whose selfe-doom’d soules,
Now prickt with deepe remorse, did daily looke
To be the spoile and prey of hungrie fowles,
From place to place their couert passage tooke,
Whose hearts the thought of death with horror shooke,
Vntill surpriz’d at length, vntimely death
To end this feare expir’d their fainting breath.
136.