I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels
I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet, be true.
O heavens! “Be true” again?
Hear why I speak it, love.
The Grecian youths are full of quality,
Their loving well composed, with gift of nature flowing,
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise.
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy—
Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin—
Makes me afeard.
O heavens, you love me not!
Die I a villain then!
In this I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games—fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant.
But I can tell that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discursive devil
That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.
Do you think I will?
But something may be done that we will not,
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
Nay, good my lord—
Come, kiss, and let us part.