Th'Assyrians' king, in peace with foul desire
And filthy lust that stained his regal heart,
In war, that should set princely hearts afire,
Vanquished did yield for want of martial art.
The dint of swords from kisses seemèd strange,
And harder than his lady's side, his targe;
From glutton feasts to soldier's fare, a change,
His helmet, far above a garland's charge.
Who scace the name of manhood did retain,
Drenchèd in sloth and womanish delight,
Feeble of sprite, unpatient of pain,
When he had lost his honor and his right
(Proud, time of wealth; in storms, appalled with dread),
Murdered himself, to show some manful deed.