There he throws his helmet down.
Like a rock well planed and hollow’d,
Crested with a grove of pine,
Thus the brazen helm and horse-hair
Glitt’ring in the sunbeam shine.
Now his beard he doff’d, and threw it
On a rock; a bush to view,
There it lay: himself moved onward,
Changed to swain in kirtle blue.
Dext’rous was the transformation;