Breathes from the wall an angel note from heaven
Of sweet defiance to her barbarous foes—
When she could talk of peace, methinks her tongue
Commanded war to prison; when of war,
It wakened Cæsar from his Roman grave,
To hear war beautified by her discourse.
Wisdom is foolishness, but in her tongue;
Beauty is slander, but in her fair face;
There is no summer, but in her cheerful looks;
Nor frosty winter, but in her disdain.