How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
I scorn you, scurvy companion.
On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
Many that are not mad have, sure, more lack of reason.
A Loud Laugh Bespeaks a Vacant Mind!
I'll privily away; I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes; Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does not affect it.