Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it remember me; for such as I am all true lovers are, unstaid and skittish in all motions else, save in the constant image of the creature that is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?
I am in love with you!
It gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned.
II. IV. 23
Thou dost speak masterly. My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye hath stay’d upon some favour that it loves. Hath it not, boy?
A little, by your favour.
It is you who I am in love with!
II. IV. 26
She is not worth thee, then...
What kind of woman is’t?
Of your complexion.
They look like you because they are you, my Lord.
II. IV. 27
...What years, i’ Faith?
About your years, my Lord.
Please get my hint!
II. IV. 29
Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take so sways she level in her husband’s heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, than women’s are.
I think it well, my lord.
I am younger than you, perhaps you will love me as well.