lines from the speech of a much braver fellow than Almanzor, Mr
Johnson's Achilles:

Though human race rise in embattled hosts,
To force her from my arms--Oh! son of Atreus!
By that immortal pow'r, whose deathless spirit
Informs this earth, I will oppose them all.--_Victim_.
]

_Queen_. He is, indeed,[1] a helmet to us all;
While he supports we need not fear to fall;
His arm despatches all things to our wish?
And serves up ev'ry foe's head in a dish.
Void is the mistress of the house of care,
While the good cook presents the bill of fare;
Whether the cod, that northern king of fish,
Or duck, or goose, or pig, adorn the dish,
No fears the number of her guests afford,
But at her hour she sees the dinner on the board.

[Footnote 1: "I have heard of being supported by a staff," says Mr
D., "but never of being supported by a helmet." I believe he never
heard of sailing with wings, which he may read in no less a poet than
Mr Dryden:

Unless we borrow wings, and sail through air.
--_Love Triumphant_.

What will he say to a kneeling valley?