In fields abroad where trumpets shrill do sound
Where glaives and shields, do give and take the knocks
Where bodies dead do overspread the ground
And friends to foes are common butcher's blocks
A gallant shot, well managing his piece
In my conceit deserves a golden fleece

Amid the seas, a gallant ship set out
Wherein nor men nor yet munitions lacks
In greatest winds that spareth not a clout
But cuts the waves in spite of weather's wracks
Would force a swain that comes of coward's kind
To change himself and be of noble mind

Who makes his seat a stately stamping steed
Whose neighs and plays are princely to behold
Whose courage stout, whose eyes are fiery red
Whose joints well knit, whose harness all of gold
Doth well deserve to be no meaner thing
Than Persian knight whose horse made him a king

By that beside, where sits a gallant Dame
Who casteth off her brave and rich attire
Whose petticoat sets forth as fair a frame
As mortal men or gods can well desire
Who sits and sees her petticoat unlaced
I say no more: the rest are all disgraced