We wear no murdering weapons, but our eyes.
}
{ Our sex, you know, was after yours designed;
{ The last perfection of the Maker's mind:
{ Heaven drew out all the gold for us, and left your dross behind.
Beauty, for valour's best reward, he chose;
Peace, after war; and, after toil, repose.
}
{ Hence, ye profane, excluded from our sights;
{ And, charmed by day with honour's vain delights,