Others have praised my sonnet to the skies.
I lack their art of telling pleasant lies. (1.2.186)
ELIANTE, to Philinte
And all our dear friends' ears will shortly burn.
The conversation takes its usual turn
How bravely, Sirs, you cut and thrust at all
These absent fools, till one by one they fall:
But let one come in sight, and you'll at once
Embrace the man you lately called a dunce,
Telling him in a tone sincere and fervent
How proud you are to be his humble servant. (2.5.103)