Love is not so great,
Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
out; our cake's dough on both sides.
Love is not so great,
Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
out; our cake's dough on both sides.
Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we
Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,
As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,
As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd
As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse-
She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
Affection's edge in me, were she as rough
As are the swelling Adriatic seas.
Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father
be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories