All hearts to wear the livery of your purpose,
That now shows cold and sober for their mood.
Dion. Not so! The bending tree ne'er kissed the clouds.
I will not stoop! What? Flaunt his sport before
A sage's eye, who comes at his own suit
To teach him truth?
Aris. Yet we must not forget
Discourteous truth is hated; vehemence,
The whip of argument, but frights conviction.
Pardon so stale a word.