The sword of his overtaker standeth not, Spear -- dart -- and lance.
From his rising are the mighty afraid, From breakings they keep themselves free.
He reckoneth iron as straw, brass as rotten wood.
and the opening for its head hath been in its midst, a border is to its opening round about, work of a weaver, as the opening of a habergeon there is to it; it is not rent.