II.
The basest Cavalier who yet wore spurs
Or drew a sword, I count him; with his grave
Eyes 'neath his plumed hat like a wolf's whom curs
Rouse, to their harm, within a forest cave;
And hair like harvest; and a voice like verse
For smoothness. Ay, a handsome man and brave!—
Brave?—who would question it! although 't is true
He warred with one weak woman and her few.