Whetting its edge to cut the race in two,
Is felony: you forfeit the bright lyre,
Much honour and much glory you!
XVIII.
—Sir, was it glory, was it honour, pride,
And not as cat and serpent and poor slave,
Wherewith we walked in union by your side?
Spare to false womanliness her delicacy,
Or bid true manliness give ear, we crave:
In our defence thus chained are we.