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Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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…Los persas enseñan a sus hijos, desde los cinco a los veinte años, sólo tres cosas: montar a caballo, disparar el arco, y decir la verdad…Lo que entre ellos no es lícito hacer, tampoco es lícito decirlo y tienen por la mayor infamia el mentir…
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