To put thyself past hope of jealousy:
And whilst unlearned fools the senses please,
Thou cur'st thy appetite by a disease;
As many use, to kill an itch withal,
Quicksilver or some biting mineral.
Dote upon handsome things each common man
30With little study and less labour can;
But to make love to a deformity,
Only commends thy great ability,
Who from hard-favour'd objects draw'st content,