“Yea,” quoth he, “dost thou fall upon thy face?”
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit,
Wilt thou not, Jule?” (1.3.)

It is an honour that I dream not of (1.3.)

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move,
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. (1.3.)