The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

_Sir Walter Scott_.


5.

Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood!
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom!
Advance our standards, set upon our foes!
Our ancient word of courage--fair Saint George--
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms!

_Shakespeare._


6.

And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of heaven,
_Hell-doomed_, and breath'st defiance here and scorn,
Where I reign king? and to enrage the more
_Thy_ King and Lord! _Back_ to thy _pun_ishment,
_False fu_gitive, and to thy speed add wings,
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue