“Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is,
How giddily he turns about all the hot bloods between
Fourteen and five-and-thirty, sometimes fashioning them
Like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the reechy painting, sometime
Like god Bel’s priests in the old church-window, sometime
Like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten
Tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?
These cod pieces are much ado about nothing.