Yet he observed how still his iron balls
Recoiled in vain against our oaken walls;
How the hard pellets fell away as dead,
By our inchanted timber fillipped.
Leave then, said he, the invulnerable keel;
We'll find their feeble, like Achilles' heel.
He, quickly taught, pours in continual clouds
Of charmed dilemmas through our sinewed shrouds;
Forests of masts fall with their rude embrace,
Our stiff sails mashed and netted into lace,