Teucrians’ sluggish hearts—men-at-arms, not to trust
themselves to a fair field or fight face to face, but keep 30
nursing their camp. Enraged, he rides round and round
the walls, and looks out for an opening where way is none.
Even as a wolf, lying in wait to surprise a crowded fold,
whines about the enclosure, exposed to wind and rain, at
mid of night; the lambs, nestling safe under their mothers, 35
keep bleating loudly; he, maddened and reckless, gnashes
his teeth at the prey beyond his reach, tormented by the
long-gathered rage of hunger and his dry bloodless jaws: