This darkning of your worth is not like that
Which trades-men use i’ th’ city; their false lightes
Are to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you,
If you will know where breathes a compleat man
(I speake it without flattery), turne your eyes,
And progresse through your selfe.
Ant. Were there nor heaven, nor hell,
I should be honest: I have long serv’d vertue,
And nev’r tane wages of her.
Duch. Now she paies it.