Cowards and worse: at such fair life she chafes
Who is not wholly of the nursery,
Nor of your schools: we share the primal curse:
Together shake it off, say we!
XLI.
—Hear, then, my friend, madam! Tongue-restrained he stands
Till words are thoughts, and thoughts, like swords enriched
With traceries of the artificer’s hands,
Are fire-proved steel to cut, fair flowers to view.
Do I hear him? Oh, he is bewitched, bewitched!