He stopped the flyers And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport. As weeds before vessel under sail, so men obeyed And fell below his stem. His sword, Death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to soothe was a thing of blood, who's every motion Was timed with dying cries. Alone he entered The mortal gate o' the' city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came offend with a sudden reinforcement struckCorioles like a planet. Now all's his, When by and by the dim of war an pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spiritRequickened what in flesh was fatigue, And to the battle came he, where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men as if'Were a perpetual spoil; and till we called Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting.