His shield no more, lest his sinister hand,

Idle, give life by shame; and on his breast

Bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil

And worn with onset, falls upon his foe

And braves alone the wounds of all the war.

Thus may an elephant in Afric wastes,

Oppressed by frequent darts, break those that fall

Rebounding from his horny hide, and shake