Golding

Oh! some of those fat beevies were delightful, Which we took up in our Northumbrian raid, And left upon the south banks of the Wear, To feed the glutton English. But the Douglas Liked better to destroy than eat their cattle. Had we such leaders now, we would not starve, While the poor burghers, Nebuchadnezzar-like, Feed on the grass. I have not had a morsel Free from loath’d putrefaction this bless’d month. What boots it, then, in hungry times like these To rear up popinjays? I’ll teach an art, Taught by an English archer, for that bird; Wrestle a fall with thee; and he who wins Shall banquet on the prize.