{ A piebald steed of Thracian strain he pressed;
{ His helm of massy gold; and crimson was his crest.
With twenty horse to second his designs,
An unexpected foe, he faced the lines.—
"Is there, (he said,) in arms, who bravely dare
His leader's honour and his dangers share?"
Then spurring on, his brandished dart he threw,
In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.
Amazed to find a dastard race, that run
Behind the rampires, and the battle shun,