My uncle Rivers talk’d how I did grow
[♦] More than my brother: ‘Ay,’ quoth my uncle Gloucester,
[♦] ‘Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:’
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
15 Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
Duch. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
In him that did object the same to thee:
He was the wretched’st thing when he was young,
So long a-growing and so leisurely,
[20] That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.