Sing it. ’Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. (IV.iii.9)
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn.
It was a crest ere thou wast born.
Thy father’s father wore it,
And thy father bore it.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. (IV.iii.15–20)
Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all. (IV.iii.34–35)
