Doff’d not his armour; in his car
He stepp’d, and there enjoy’d repose.
The morning dawn’d: with choral lay
The feather’d songsters fill the skies:
The sun ascends; the trav’llers gay
From slumbers light refresh’d arise.
To war and bold adventure prone,
Each buckles on his armour strait,
And whets his weapon on the stone,
That stands without the cottage gate.