You see:  the gods have left us, by whose aid
Our empire stood; nor can the flame be stay’d:  340
Then let us fall amidst our foes; this one
Relief the vanquish’d have, to hope for none.’ 
Then reinforced, as in a stormy night
Wolves urged by their raging appetite
Forage for prey, which their neglected young
With greedy jaws expect, even so among
Foes, fire, and swords, t’assured death we pass;
Darkness our guide, Despair our leader was. 
Who can relate that evening’s woes and spoils,
Or can his tears proportion to our toils? 350
The city, which so long had flourish’d, falls;
Death triumphs o’er the houses, temples, walls. 
Nor only on the Trojans fell this doom,
Their hearts at last the vanquish’d reassume;
And now the victors fall:  on all sides fears,
Groans, and pale Death in all her shapes appears! 
Androgeus first with his whole troop was cast
Upon us, with civility misplaced
Thus greeting us, ’You lose, by your delay,
Your share, both of the honour and the prey; 360
Others the spoils of burning Troy convey
Back to those ships which you but now forsake.’ 
We making no return, his sad mistake
Too late he finds; as when an unseen snake
A traveller’s unwary foot hath press’d,
Who trembling starts, when the snake’s azure crest,
Swoll’n with his rising anger, he espies,
So from our view surprised Androgeus flies. 
But here an easy victory we meet: 
Fear binds their hands and ignorance their feet. 370
Whilst fortune our first enterprise did aid,
Encouraged with success, Choroebus said,
’O friends! we now by better fates are led,
And the fair path they lead us, let us tread. 
First change your arms, and their distinctions bear;
The same, in foes, deceit and virtue are.’ 
Then of his arms Androgeus he divests,
His sword, his shield he takes, and plumed crests;
Then Ripheus, Dymas, and the rest, all glad
Of the occasion, in fresh spoils are clad. 380
Thus mix’d with Greeks, as if their fortune still
Follow’d their swords, we fight, pursue, and kill. 
Some re-ascend the horse, and he whose sides
Let forth the valiant, now the coward hides. 
Some to their safer guard, their ships, retire;
But vain’s that hope ’gainst which the gods conspire;
Behold the royal virgin, the divine
Cassandra, from Minerva’s fatal shrine
Dragg’d by the hair, casting t’wards heaven, in vain,
Her eyes; for cords her tender hands did strain; 390
Choroebus at the spectacle enraged,
Flies in amidst the foes:  we thus engaged,
To second him, among the thickest ran;
Here first our ruin from our friends began,
Who from the temple’s battlements a shower
Of darts and arrows on our heads did pour: 
They us for Greeks, and now the Greeks (who knew