“She, in spite of nature,
Of years, of country, credit, every thing,
To fall in love with what she feared to look on!
It is a judgment maimed and most imperfect
That will confess perfection so could err
Against all rules of nature.”
“O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad
And live upon the vapor of a dungeon
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others’ uses. Yet ‘tis the plague of great ones;
Prerogatived are they less than the base.
‘Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.
Even then this forked plague is fated to us
When we do quicken.”
“Let him do his spite.
My services which I have done the signiory
Shall out-tongue his complaints. ‘Tis yet to know
(Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,
I shall promulgate) I fetch my life and being
From men of royal siege, and my demerits
May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
As this that I have reached.”
“Ay, let her rot, and perish and be damned
tonight, for she shall not live. No, my heart is turned
to stone. I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the
world hath not a sweeter creature! She might lie by
an emperor’s side and command him tasks.”
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