Two hundred —— at one brunt?
Ay, think so, natheless all your tavern-front
10
With many a scorpion I will over-write.
For that my damsel, fro' my breast took flight,
By me so lovèd, as shall loved be none,
Wherefor so mighty wars were waged and won,
Does sit in public here. Ye fain, rich wights,
15
All woo her: thither too (the chief of slights!)