IACHIMO.
Either your unparagon'd mistress is dead, or she's outpriz'd by a
trifle.

POSTHUMUS.
You are mistaken. The one may be sold, or given, if there were
wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift; the other is
not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.

IACHIMO.
Which the gods have given you?

POSTHUMUS.
Which, by their graces, I will keep.

IACHIMO.
You may wear her in title yours; but, you know, strange fowl
light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stolen too;
so your brace of unprizable estimations, the one is but frail
and the other casual. A cunning thief, or a that-way-
accomplish'd courtier, would hazard the winning both of first
and last.

POSTHUMUS.
Your Italy contains none so accomplish'd a courtier to convince
the honour of my mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that,
you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.