Falchion

Soon as he saw the captured city fall, / the palace-gates burst open, and the foe / dealing wild riot in his inmost hall, / up sprang the old man and, at danger's call, / braced o'er his trembling shoulders in a breath / his rusty armour, took his belt withal, / and drew the useless falchion from its sheath, / and on their thronging spears rushed forth to meet his death.

"Now die!" – So speaking, to the shrine he tore / the aged Priam, trembling with affright, / and feebly sliding in his son's warm gore. / The left hand twists his hoary locks; the right / deep in his side drives home the falchion, bared and bright.

I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion

Thy Chamber vvith Ambroſiall odors breatheth, / Nevv loues and true loues vnto them that entreateth, / And furious Mars made milde his Faulcheon ſheatheth / At thy delicious aſpect: […]

Even when the battle-roar was deep, / With dauntless heart he hewed his way, / Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, / And still was heard his warrior-lay; […]

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late accidents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it; […]