“Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow More than my brother. "Ay," quoth my uncle Gloster,
"Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace."
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
DUCHESS Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee: He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, So long a growing and so leisurely, That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.”