Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow—

Over my altars hath he hung his lance,

His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,

And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,

To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest:"

and, on finding her efforts fruitless, she bursts forth into the following energetic reproach:—

"Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,

Well-painted idol, image, dull and dead,

Statue, contenting but the eye alone,

Thing like a man, but of no woman bred."