At foe from head to foot in magic mail, And off it withered, cobweb-armory Against the lightning! 'T was truth singed the lies And saved me, not the vain sword nor weak speech! You see, I will not have the service fail! One point o' the circle plainer, where I stand Traced round about with white to front the world. 1630 What of the calumny I came across, What o' the way to the end? the end crowns all. The judges judged aright i' the main, gave |