Ay, I could number all.
Mar. And know’st thou, too,
What fault hath made them such? ’Tis that thou art
So high above them: ’tis that thy disdain
Doth meet them undisguised. As yet not one
Hath done thee wrong; but who, when so resolved,
Finds not his time to injure? In thy thoughts,
Save when they cross thy path, no place is theirs;
But they remember thee. The high in soul
Scorn and forget; but to the grovelling heart