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Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

For.

Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

Prin.

See, see, my beauty will be sav’d by merit.

O heresy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.

But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,

And shooting well is then accounted ill.

Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:

Not wounding, pity would not let me do’t;

If wounding, then it was to show my skill,

That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.

And out of question so it is sometimes:

Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,

When for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part,

We bend to that the working of the heart;

As I for praise alone now seek to spill

The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill.

Boyet.

Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty

Only for praise’ sake, when they strive to be

Lords o’er their lords?

Prin.

Only for praise—and praise we may afford

To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter Clown [Costard].

Boyet.