That admiral has shaken out his beard That ev'n so white as thorn in blossom seems;He'll no way hide, whateer his fate may be, Then to his mouth he sets a trumpet clear, And clearly sounds, so all the pagans hear.
Throughout the field rally his companies.
From Occiant, those men who bray and bleat, And from Argoille, who, like dogs barking, speak;Seek out the Franks with such a high folly, Break through their line, the thickest press they meet Dead from that shock they've seven thousand heaped.
