My purse, with bonnet pieces[354] store,
To him will swim a bowshot o’er,
And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we’ll tame the war wolf then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.’—
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,
On earth his casque and corselet rung,
He plunged him in the wave:—
All saw the deed—the purpose knew,
And to their clamors Benvenue