Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel! / Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! / They could not in the self-same mansion dwell / Without some stir of heart, some malady; …

For if a Man, haue that Penetration of Iudgment, as he can discerne, what Things are to be laid open, and what to be secretted, and what to be shewed at Halfe lights, and to whom, and when, (which indeed are Arts of State, and Arts of Life, as Tacitus well calleth them) to him, a Habit of Dissimulation, is a Hinderance, and a Poorenesse.

No sooner had the spell been cast than it was broken by a sound from outside the castle; the loud, rough, grinding, metallic grunting sound—vworp-vworp-vworp!—of some machine trying to come to life or die quickly.

nought againe / Him answered, as courtesie became, / But with sterne lookes, and stomachous disdaine, / Gaue signes of grudge and discontentment vaine […]