125 Or whether ’twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigour,
[♦] Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
[130] Our soldiers’, like the night-owl’s lazy flight,
[♦] Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
[♦] I cheer’d them up with justice of our cause,
[♦] With promise of high pay and great rewards: