To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt?
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire.
In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, Ere they can hide their levity in honour So like a courtier: contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awak’d them; and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey’d his hand: who were below him He us’d as creatures of another place;…
Check thy contempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good; Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity.