A battle was a battle then,
A breathing piece of work—but men
Fight now with powder puffs!
The curtal-axe is out of date!
The good old cross-bow bends to Fate,
'Tis gone—the archer's craft!
No tough arm bends the springing yew.
And jolly draymen ride, in lieu
Of Death, upon the shaft.—
The spear—the gallant tilter's pride