āHe kills her in her own humor.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
āLord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.ā
āThere is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.ā
āI will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oysterā