Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.
Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.