But badly arm’d, as you may ken;
With lockless guns, and rusty swords,
Durks and pistols of ancient sorts,
Old scythes, with their rumples even,
Into a tree, they had them driv’n;
And some, with battons of good oak,
Vow’d to kill at every stroke:
Some had hatchets upon a pole,
Mischievous weapons, antick and droll,
Was both for cleaving and for clieking,