[044] A man of sovereign parts he is esteem’d;
[045] Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue’s gloss,
[047] If virtue’s gloss will stain with any soil,
Is a sharp wit match’d with too blunt a will;
050 Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
[051] It should none spare that come within his power.
[052] Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is’t so?
Mar. They say so most that most his humours know.