5 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
[♦] Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
[♦] Grim-visaged war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front;
[♦] And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
[10] To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
[♦] He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
[♦] To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
[♦] But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
[15] Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass: