}
Where poor frail woman's made a deity, }
With senseless amorous idolatry, }
And snivelling heroes sigh, and pine, and cry. }
Though singly they beat armies, and huff kings,
Rant at the gods, and do impossible things;
Though they can laugh at danger, blood, and wounds,
Yet if the dame once chides, the milk-sop hero swoons.
These doughty things nor manners have nor wit;
We ne'er saw hero fit to drink with yet.