I marvel more when thou wilt say anything to the purpose, thou shallow serving-man, whose swiftest conceit carries thee no higher than to apprehend with difficulty the stale jests of us thy compeers.
When was't ever known to club thy own particular jest among us?
_Mar_.

Most unkind Daniel, to speak such biting things of me! _Fran_.

See--if he hath not brought tears into the poor fellow's eyes with the saltness of his rebuke.
_Dan_.

No offence, brother Martin--I meant none.

'Tis true, Heaven gives gifts, and withholds them.