I scorn you, scurvy companion.
And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.
Come give us a taste of your quality.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
Wish chastely, and love dearly.