Villaine, respects thou more thy slavish life,
Than honor of thy countrie or thy name?
Is not my life and state as deere to me,
The citie and my native countries weale,
As any thing of price with thy conceit?
Have we not hope, for all our battered walles,
To live secure, and keep his forces out,
When this our famous lake of Limnasphaltis
Makes walles a fresh with every thing that falles
Into the liquid substance of his streame,
More strong than are the gates of death or hel?
What faintnesse should dismay our courages,
When we are thus defenc'd against our Foe,
And have no terrour but his threatning lookes?