“Get thee to a nunnery.”

“Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.”

“What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.”

“I am not bound to please thee with my answer.”

“Away, 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!”

“He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.”

“Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?”

“The gates of monarchsAre arched so high that giants may jet throughAnd keep their impious turbans on withoutGood morrow to the sun.”