Of silver pure his arms and gleaming chest,
Thence of green-bloomèd bronze far as the fork,
Of iron weather-rusted all the rest.
One single vein he had, which running down
From head to foot was open in his crown,
And closèd by a nail; such was this pest.
15
A little while they spent in sad delay,
Then order’d, as the oracle had said,
The cold feast and funereal display