It is so sharp beneath,
For he that doth place a dagger in 's face,
What wears he in his sheath?
But, methinks, I do itch to go thro' stich
The needle-beard to amend,
Which, without any wrong, I may call too long,
For man can see no end.
The soldier's-beard doth march in shear'd
In figure like a spade,
With which he'll make his enemies quake,