MORE.
Nay, good night rather;
Your honor’s crest-fain with your happy father.
ROPER.
Oh, what formality, what square observance,
Lives in a little room! here public care
Gags not the eyes of slumber; here fierce riot
Ruffles not proudly in a coat of trust,
Whilst, like a pawn at chess, he keeps in rank
With kings and mighty fellows; yet indeed
Those men that stand on tiptoe smile to see
Him pawn his fortunes.
MORE.
True, son,….
Nor does the wanton tongue here screw itself
Into the ear, that like a vise drinks up
The iron instrument.
LADY MORE.
We are here at peace.
MORE.
Then peace, good wife.
LADY MORE.
For, keeping still in compass, a strange point
In times new navigation we have sailed
Beyond our course.
MORE.
Have done.
LADY MORE.
We are exiled the court.
MORE.
Still thou harpest on that:
Tis sin for to deserve that banishment;
But he that ne’er knew court, courts sweet content.
LADY MORE.
Oh, but, dear husband—