Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

Her father and myself, lawful espials, / Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, / We may of their encounter frankly judge,

Let the gall'd jade wince; our withers are unwrung.

What, frighted with false fire?

Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.

For what advancement may I hope from thee, / That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits / To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d?

No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.

No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th' world.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better.

Ecstasy! / My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time, / And makes as healthful music. It is not madness / That I have utter’d.