With tid-bits of split javelin:
Pillow'd on breastplates we recline;
Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows,
And crown'd with catapults our brows.—Wrangham.
The same.
Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min,
Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din.
Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been;
Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren.
Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,