IACHIMO.
Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
FRENCHMAN.
Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France.
IACHIMO.
That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn out.
POSTHUMUS.
She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
IACHIMO.
You must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy.
POSTHUMUS.
Being so far provok’d as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.
IACHIMO.
As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went before others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.
POSTHUMUS.
I prais’d her as I rated her. So do I my stone.
IACHIMO.
What do you esteem it at?
POSTHUMUS.
More than the world enjoys.