My chastity's the jewel of our house, bequeathed down from many ancestors.

I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.

O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.

All is well ended, if the suit be won.

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.