For ever from its splendour fly!
LOK.
’Tis not thy menace makes me shrink;
Thy sword rests ever in the sheath;
Useless! except to waste thy breath
In empty boasts, to doze and drink!
Cautious of shedding blood art thou,
To bite less proper than to bay:
When call’d upon to wield the bow,
The valiant Bragur slinks away.