My pride fell with my fortunes.
So. Lie there, my art.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.