And it hath set a foyle upon thy fame, 15
Not as the foile doth grace the diamond.
Mi. Bar. What fault, sir, did you see in me to day?
M. Bar. O, doe not set the organ of thy voice
On such a grunting key of discontent!
Doe not deforme the beautie of thy tongue 20
With such mishapen answeres. Rough wrathfull words
Are bastards got by rashnes in the thoughts:
Faire demeanors are vertues nuptiall babes,
The off-spring of the well instructed soule;