Yet not for those, Nor what the potent Victor in his rage Can else inflict, do I repent or change, Though chang’d in outward lustre, that fixt mind, And high disdain from sense of injur’d merit (I, 94–98)
All these and more came flocking, but with looks Downcast and damp; yet such wherein appear’d Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their chief Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost In loss itself; which on his count’nance cast Like doubtful hue: but he his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently rais’d Their fainting courage, and dispell’d their fears. (I, 522–530)
Henceforth his might we know, and know our own, So as not either to provoke, or dread New war, provok’d. (I, 643–645)