If thou hast wisely planned,
Fear not; the steed doth wait the rider,
The spear doth claim the hand.
That snake-born monster’s horny hide,
That was not made to feel,
May never yield life’s crimson tide
To sharpest Rhodian steel;
But with this spear from Vulcan’s forge,
Right through the mouth in the deep gorge
If thou shalt pierce it, then