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Thus roving on
In confus'd march forlorn, th' adventrous Bands,
Into thir inmost bower
Handed they went; and eas'd the putting off
How shall I behold the face
Henceforth of God or Angel, earst with joy
But he his wonted pride
Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore
Towards him they bend
With awful reverence prone; and as a God
Thir dread commander: he above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent
but as an Eagle
His cloudless thunderbolted on thir heads.
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