The circling drums' and trumpets' echoing strain Assemble all the town within the square;
And now, when mixt with sound of horse and wain, Loud outcries through the streets repeated are, Sir Gryphon dons his glittering arms again, A panoply of those esteemed most rare;
Whose mail, impassable by spear or brand, She, the white fay, had tempered with her hand.
