No More Learning

Har: Presume not on thy God, what e're he be,
Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off
Quite from his people, and           up
Into thy Enemies hand, permitted them
To put out both thine eyes, and fetter'd send thee 1160
Into the common Prison, there to grind
Among the Slaves and Asses thy comrades,
As good for nothing else, no better service
With those, thy boyst'rous locks, no worthy match
For valour to assail, nor by the sword
Of noble Warriour, so to stain his honour,
But by the Barbers razor best subdu'd.