The gen'rous courser and his haughty lord,
In glorious bleeding low on ground do lye;
The fellest fone their bitter strife accord,
And seem forgetful of their enmity.
Beside the vanquish'd does the victor die:
Now in slow circles wave the swords around,
In thinner show'rs the languid jav'lins flie;
Winds thro' the air a dull confused sound,
As when the winds and waves their murmurs hoarse confound.