Skill is my luck and courage is my friend:
No slave to Nature, ’tis my chief delight
To win my way and act in her despite:-
Trust then my art, that, in itself complete,
Needs no assistance and fears no defeat.”
Warm’d by her well-spiced ale and aiding pipe,
The angry Matron grew for contest ripe.
“Can you,” she said, “ungrateful and unjust,
Before experience, ostentation trust!
What is your hazard, foolish daughters, tell?