Poles, sharpen’d in the flames, from high they throw, With imitated darts, to gall the foe.
With deadly wounds he gall’d the distant foe; Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow: A golden helm his front and head surrounds A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds.
They shrink for fear, abated of their rage, Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage; Contented now to gall them from below With darts and slings, and with the distant bow.
High in his chariot then Halesus came, A foe by birth to Troy’s unhappy name: From Agamemnon born— to Turnus’ aid A thousand men the youthful hero led, Who till the Massic soil, for wine renown’d, And fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground, And those who live by Sidicinian shores, And where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars, Cales’ and Osca’s old inhabitants, And rough Saticulans, inur’d to wants: Light demi-lances from afar they throw, Fasten’d with leathern thongs, to gall the foe.
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She had the gall to ask for a raise.
all the greed and all the gall Is boiled away for once and all.