If I must contend, said he, Best with the best, the Sender not the sent, Or all at once; more glorie will be wonn, Or less be lost.

Thy fear, said ZEPHON bold, Will save us trial what the least can doe Single against thee wicked, and thence weak.

The Fiend repli'd not, overcome with rage; But like a proud Steed reind, went hautie on, Chaumping his iron curb: to strive or flie He held it vain; awe from above had quelld His heart, not else dismai'd.

Now drew they nigh The western point, where those half-rounding guards Just met, & closing stood in squadron joind Awaiting next command.

To whom thir Chief GABRIEL from the Front thus calld aloud.