āMilk-livered man,That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerningThine honor from thy suffering; [that not know'stFools do those villains pity who are punishedEre they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,With plumed helm thy state begins to threat,Whilst thou, a moral fool, sits still and cries'Alack, why does he so?']ā
