Shock’d like an iron-clanking anvil bang’d
With hammers.
* * * * * * * * * *
With that I drave
Among the thickest and bore down a Prince,
And Cyril one. Yea, let me make my dream
All that I would. But that large-moulded man,
His visage all agrin as at a wake,
Made at me thro’ the press and staggering back
With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came