Friend, we understand not one another: I am too
courtly and thou art too cunning. At whose request
do these men play?
Said by: Pandarus
You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do,
our melancholy upon your head!
He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot
blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot
thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.
'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
Yea, overshines ourself.
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