DUKE ORSINO
What kind of woman is't?
VIOLA
Of your complexion.
DUKE ORSINO
She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?
VIOLA
About your years, my lord.
DUKE ORSINO
Too old by heaven: let still the woman take
An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are
Twelfth Night
·
William Shakespeare
