Thou art a knave, a rascal, and a fool, Whose wit is dull, whose words are but a tool To spread thy ignorance and petty spite, And cast aspersions on a lady'

Thou art a knave, a rascal, and a fool, Whose wit is dull, whose words are but a tool To spread thy ignorance and petty spite, And cast aspersions on a lady's plight. Thou speakest of the Bard with reverence due, Yet fail to see the point, which should be true: That women of that time were oft denied The chance to let their talents be espied. Thou makest false comparisons, weak and vain, Of siblings who in diff'rent spheres did reign. 'Tis not of footage or of dunks we speak, But of the chances lost, the voices meek. Thy words betray a mind that's closed and small, That cannot see beyond its narrow wall. Thou rail'st against the learned and the wise, Yet 'tis thy own defects that meet our eyes. So hold thy tongue, thou churlish, clownish knave, And let the truth, once hidden, now be grave. For Joan, though overshadowed by her kin, Deserves to have her story writ therein.