Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can trickle when she wounds!
Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.
Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.