The Dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service; Are they inform'd of this?
Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.
After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.