For though there be a nine-and-twenty stars,
Yet Jealousy stares only at the moon.
Lo! I myself have made a vow ’twixt here
And holy Thomas’ shrine to twig a husband;
But if I like this fellow Geoffrey, can’t
I like ye all? By God, give me your fists;
And I will tip ye a secret.
[Mysteriously.]
I am deef!
Ye ken all great folks have some great defect: