'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgement,
For idiots in this case of favour would
Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
Sluttery to such neat excellence oppos'd
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allur'd to feed.

IMOGEN.
What is the matter, trow?

IACHIMO.
The cloyed will,--
That satiate yet unsatisfi'd desire, that tub
Both fill'd and running,--ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage.

IMOGEN.
What, dear sir,
Thus raps you? Are you well?

IACHIMO.
Thanks, madam; well.

[To PISANIO.]

Beseech you, sir, desire
My man's abode where I did leave him.
He is strange and peevish.