To front the mighty thus amidst his hosts?
Elm. Think’st thou there dwells no courage but in breasts
That set their mail against the ringing spears,
When helmets are struck down? Thou little know’st
Of nature’s marvels. Chief! my heart is nerved
To make its way through things which warrior men,
Ay, they that master death by field or flood,
Would look on, ere they braved! I have no thought,
No sense of fear! Thou’rt mighty! but a soul
Wound up like mine is mightier, in the power