āThe fewer men, the greater share of honor.ā
āGet thee to a nunnery.ā
āWolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.ā
āWhat, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.ā
āI am not bound to please thee with my answer.ā
āAway, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!ā
āRing the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.ā
āGod's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!ā
āFight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!ā