_Dogberry._ Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years?--Oh, that he were here to write me down an ass!--But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not than I am an ass.--No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him.--Bring him away.--Oh, that I had been writ down an ass! _FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE_ _Launcelot._ Certainly, my conscience will serve me to run this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, “Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says, “No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo”; or, as aforesaid, “honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack: “Via!” says the fiend; “away!” says the fiend; “for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,” says the fiend, “and run.” Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, “My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man’s son,” or rather an honest woman’s son; for, indeed, my father did something smack--something grow to--he had a kind of taste--well, my conscience says, “Launcelot, budge not.” “Budge,” says the fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you counsel well.” “Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well.” To be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who--God bless the mark!--is a kind of devil; and to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscience, my conscience is a kind of hard conscience to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I will run. _FROM HAMLET_ POLONIUS _and_ HAMLET, _reading_. _Polonius._ How does my good Lord Hamlet? _Hamlet._ Well, God-’a’-mercy. _Polonius._ Do you know me, my lord? _Hamlet._ Excellent well; you are a fishmonger _Polonius._ Not I, my lord. _Hamlet._ Then I would you were so honest a man. _Polonius._ Honest, my lord? _Hamlet._ Ay, sir: to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. _Polonius._ That’s very true, my lord. _Hamlet._ For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing carrion--Have you a daughter? _Polonius._ I have, my lord.