These words, so full of malice mixed with art,
Inflamed with rage the youthful hero's heart.
Then groaning from the bottom of his breast,
He heaved for wind, and thus his wrath expressed:—
"You, Drances, never want a stream of words,
Then, when the public need requires our swords.
First in the council-hall to steer the state,
And ever foremost in a tongue-debate,
While our strong walls secure us from the foe,
Ere yet with blood our ditches overflow: