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Virtue breeds gentry, she makes the best heir.

BOTH DAUGHTERS.

Good morrow to your honor.

MORE.

Nay, good night rather;

Your honor's crest-fain with your happy father.

ROPER.

Oh, what formality, what square observance,

Lives in a little room! here public care

Gags not the eyes of slumber; here fierce riot

Ruffles not proudly in a coat of trust,

Whilst, like a pawn at chess, he keeps in rank

With kings and mighty fellows; yet indeed

Those men that stand on tiptoe smile to see

Him pawn his fortunes.

MORE.

True, son,….

Nor does the wanton tongue here screw itself

Into the ear, that like a vise drinks up

The iron instrument.

LADY MORE.

We are here at peace.

MORE.

Then peace, good wife.

LADY MORE.

For, keeping still in compass, a strange point

In times new navigation we have sailed

Beyond our course.

MORE.

Have done.

LADY MORE.

We are exiled the court.

MORE.

Still thou harpest on that:

Tis sin for to deserve that banishment;

But he that ne'er knew court, courts sweet content.

LADY MORE.

Oh, but, dear husband—

MORE.

I will not hear thee, wife;

The winding labyrinth of thy strange discourse

Will ne'er have end. Sit still; and, my good wife,

Entreat thy tongue be still; or, credit me,

Thou shalt not understand a word we speak;

We'll talk in Latin.

Humida vallis raros patitur fulminis ictus,

More rest enjoys the subject meanly bred

Than he that bears the kingdom in his head.

Great men are still musicians, else the world lies;

They learn low strains after the notes that rise.

ROPER.

Good sir, be still yourself, and but remember

How in this general court of short-lived pleasure,

The world, creation is the ample food

That is digested in the maw of time:

If man himself be subject to such ruin,

How shall his garment, then, or the loose points

That tie respect unto his awful place,

Avoid destruction? Most honored father-in-law,

The blood you have bequeathed these several hearts

To nourish your posterity, stands firm;

And, as with joy you led us first to rise,

So with like hearts we'll lock preferment's eyes.

MORE.

Close them not, then, with tears: for that ostent

Gives a wet signal of your discontent.

If you will share my fortunes, comfort then;

An hundred smiles for one sigh: what! we are men:

Resign wet passion to these weaker eyes,

Which proves their sex, but grants it ne'er more wise.

Let's now survey our state. Here sits my wife,

And dear esteemed issue; yonder stand

My loving servants: now the difference

Twixt those and these. Now you shall hear my speak

Like More in melancholy. I conceive that nature

Hath sundry metals, out of which she frames

Us mortals, each in valuation

Outprizing other: of the finest stuff

The finest features come: the rest of earth,

Receive base fortune even before their birth;

Hence slaves have their creation; and I think

Nature provides content for the base mind;

Under the whip, the burden, and the toil,

Their low-wrought bodies drudge in patience;

As for the prince in all his sweet-gorged maw,

And his rank flesh, that sinfully renews

The noon's excess in the night's dangerous surfeits.

What means or misery from our birth doth flow

Nature entitles to us; that we owe:

But we, being subject to the rack of hate,

Falling from happy life to bondage state,

Having seen better days, now know the lack

Of glory that once reared each high-fed back.

But you, that in your age did ne'er view better,

Challenged not fortune for your thriftless debter.

CATESBY.

Sir, we have seen far better days than these.

MORE.

I was the patron of those days, and know

Those were but painted days, only for show.

Then grieve not you to fall with him that gave them:

Generosis servis gloriosum mori.

Dear Gough, thou art my learned secretary;

You, Master Catesby, steward of my house;

The rest like you have had fair time to grow

In sun-shine of my fortunes. But I must tell ye,

Corruption is fled hence with each man's office;

Bribes, that make open traffic twixt the soul

And netherland of hell, deliver up