My first now marks the soldier’s face,
Who was my next’s defender;
But when my whole attacked the place
It drove him to surrender.
29
My first is away from Paris, and may
Come round with a rap at your portal;
My second is Spanish, but quickly will vanish
If it turns to a nod from a mortal.
30
Often my first a B begins,
One always starts my second.
My all, though free from grosser sins,
Of little worth is reckoned.
31
My first is a kind of butter,
My second is a sort of cutter;
My whole, whether smaller or larger,
Was always a kind of charger.