You love not priests, De Bourbon, more than I.
Off, vile denial of my manhood's pride;
Off, off to hell! where thou wast first invented,
Now once again I stand and breathe a knight.
Nay, stay not gazing thus: it is Garcia,
Whose name hath reach'd thee long ere now, I trow;
Whom thou hast met in deadly fight full oft,
When France and Spain join'd in the battle field.
Beyond the Pyrenean boundary
That guards thy land, are forty thousand men: