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SAMSON AGONISTES. 95
At my affliction, and perhaps t' infult,
Their daily practice to afflitSt me more.
CHORUS.
This, this is he; foftly a while,
Let us not break in upon him;
O change beyond report, thought,
or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelefsly diffus'd,
With languifh'd head unpropt,
As one paft hope, abandon'd,
And by himfelf given over;
In flaviih habit,
ill-fitted weeds
O'er-worn and foil'd ;
Or do my eyes mifreprefent? Can this be he,
That heroic, that renown'd,
Irrefiftible Samfon? whom unarm'd
No ftrength of man, or fierceft wild beaft could with*
ftand;
Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid,
Ran on imbattl'd armies clad in iron,
And weaponlefs himfelf,
Made arms ridiculous, ufelefs the forgery
Of brazen ihield and fpear, the hammer'd cuirafs,
Chalybean temper'd fteel, and frock of mail
Adamantean proof;
But fafeft he who flood aloof,
When infupportably his foot advanc'd,
In fcorn of their proud arms and warlike tools,
The bold Afcalonitc
Spurn 'd them to death by troops.
Fled from his lion ramp, old warriors turn'd
Their plated backs under his heel ;
Or grov'ling foil'd their crefled helmets in the duft.