What, must I hold a candle to my shames? They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light. Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love; And I should be obscured.

So are you, sweet, Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. But come at once; For the close night doth play the runaway, And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.

I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight. Exit above.

Beshrew me but I love her heartily; For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath proved herself, And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.