So speaks his vaunting shield: on the stream’s bank
He stands, loud-roaring, eager for the fight,
As some fierce steed that frets against the bit,
And waits with ruffling neck, and ears erect,
To catch the trumpet’s blare. Who will oppose
This man? what champion, when the bolts are broken,
Shall plant his body in the Prœtian gate?
Eteocles.
No blows I fear from the trim dress of war,
No wounds from blazoned terrors. Triple crests