But if the mother spring at him, and hang, Fixing her cruel tusks into his ear, Her whelps as well will blood their greedy fang, And, bold in her defence, assail the steer:
One bites his paunch, and one his back: so sprang That band upon the paynim cavalier.
From roof and window, and from place more nigh, Poured in a ceaseless shower, the weapons fly.
