'Tis time you should renounce them, for we find
They plead a senseless claim to womankind:
Such squires are only fit for country-towns,
To stink of ale, and dust a stand with clowns;
Who, to be chosen for the land's protectors,
Tope and get drunk before their wise electors.
Let not farce lovers your weak choice upbraid,
But turn them over to the chamber-maid;
Or, if they come to see our tragic scenes,
Instruct them what a Spartan hero means: