As if mere papier-maché ’twould prove, and forget
For what it had duty to do.
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was—
Poor shako—a shaking to stand!
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
The peak came off, limp, in my hand!
“And such,” I exclaimed, “was the Dons[68] foolish act
With his helmet so neatly combined,
He exposed it to thwacks, which the joints rudely cracked,
Not for use but appearance designed.