Image of hellish horrour, Ignorance, Borne in the bosome of the black abysse, 260 And fed with Furies milke for sustenaunce Of his weake infancie, begot amisse By yawning Sloth on his owne mother Night, So hee his sonnes both syre and brother hight, He, armd with blindnesse and with boldnes stout, 265 (For blind is bold,) hath our fayre light defaced;

Man. Were you a stranger Armd in the middle of a great Battalion And thus should dare to taxe him, I would wave My weapon ore my head to waft you forth To single combatt: if you would not come, Had I as many lives as I have hayres, I'de shoot 'em all away to force my passage Through such an hoast untill I met the Traytour To my dear brother.