He’ll act when grown a hero, learnt debating art.
Men’s quarrels are the same as those fought out by boys;
They’re senseless, reasonless; they squabble for mere toys.10
Their weapons are but wooden swords, as used in play;
Their objects are not worth a thought, by night or day.
They mount their hobby-horses, ride about on sticks;
Declaring ’tis Bucephalus, Eclipse, that kicks.
’Tis they who bear a burden, pack-horse-like, or ass;
Their vanity converts them into horsemen’s mass.
So let it be till that day when God’s riders shall,