I am no mote to play in't, as great men are.
Mons. Callest thou men great in state, motes in the sunne?
They say so that would have thee freeze in shades,
That (like the grosse Sicilian gurmundist)
Empty their noses in the cates they love,60
That none may eat but they. Do thou but bring
Light to the banquet Fortune sets before thee
And thou wilt loath leane darknesse like thy death.
Who would beleeve thy mettall could let sloth
Rust and consume it? If Themistocles65