Of our soft sex! Well are you made our lords;
So bold, so great, so godlike are you formed!
How can you love such silly things as women?
Arth. Beauty like yours commands; and man was made
But a more boisterous, and a stronger slave,
To you, the best delights of human kind.
Em. But are you mine? Is there an end of war?
Are all those trumpets dead themselves, at last,
That used to kill men with their thundering sounds?
Arth. The sum of war is undecided yet;