Horatio, of ideal courage vain, <br />Was flourishing in air his father's cane, <br />And, as the fumes of valour swelled his pate, <br />Now thought himself this hero, and now that: <br />'And now,' he cried, 'I will Achilles be; <br />My sword I brandish; see, the Trojans flee. <br />Now I'll be Hector, when his angry blade <br />A lane through heaps of slaughtered Grecians made! <br />And now by deeds still braver I'll evince <br />I am no less than Edward the Black Prince.- <br />Give way, ye coward French-' As thus he spoke, <br />And aimed in fancy a sufficient stroke <br />To fix the fate of Cressy or Poictiers <br />(The Muse relates the hero's fate with tears); <br />He struck his milk-white hand against a nail, <br />Sees his own blood, and feels his courage fail. <br />Ah! where is now that boasted valour flown, <br />That in the tented field so late was shown! <br />Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs the head, <br />And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/feigned-courage/
