Nor stops he here, nor leaves a corslet whole, Nor helm unbroken, where his sword is plied, Of this the front or cheek, of that the poll, The arm of other foe his strokes divide;
And he, of these divorcing body and soul, Restores the wavering battle on that side;
Whence the disheartened and ignoble throng Are scattered wide, and broke, and driven along.