I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! What's the matter, sweet-heart? Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. What, what, sweet-heart? O my , they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! There's letters from my mother: what the import is, I know not yet. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to the war! It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak; his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. My mother greets me kindly; is she well? She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the world; but yet she is not well. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. What two things? One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence God send her