We art not frighted from the bloodied field;
Hearts becoming of a kingly knight's shield.
We art not thy's intricate game thee wields,
Grazing our ope body whence merely peeled.
We art not undone by Eve's wrongdoing, by which wenches' fates art fately sealed.
Nay! Beyond arrant nonsense of frailties alike,
We possess a wit as strong as a vanguard's pike!
Wherefore dost thou still prate such words of an envious tyke?
Dost thou know the ignorant visage of thee, can be devoured by a vengeful strike?
Oh, such an absentminded psyche!
How I grow weary of men's foolish sport,
Oh, such gentleness when thee cuts short
A life of splendor and equality in court.