No More Learning

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 stol'n 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.
PHILARIO. Let us leave here, gentlemen.
POSTHUMUS. Sir, with all my heart.
This worthy signior, I thank
him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.
IACHIMO. With five times so much conversation I should get ground
of your fair mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had
I admittance and opportunity to friend.
POSTHUMUS. No, no.
IACHIMO. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your
ring, which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it something. But I make
my wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and,
to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
lady in the world.
POSTHUMUS. You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a persuasion,
and I doubt not you sustain what y'are worthy of by your attempt.
IACHIMO. What's that?
POSTHUMUS. A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve
more- a punishment too.
PHILARIO. Gentlemen, enough of this.