"I bring my fraught unto the wished port, My Summer’s hope, my travels’ sweet reward: And here, with humble duty, I present This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword, Cropped and cut down even at the gate of death, The king of Boheme, father, whom I slew; Whose thousands had entrenched me round about, And lay as thick upon my battered crest, As on an Anvil, with their ponderous glaves:"
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Original Language: English
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Pseudo-Shakespeare, Edward III, III. iv. 89
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Polearm
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Polearm
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