āLord, what fools these mortals be!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
āThe dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.ā
āWe that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.ā
āHow many fond fools serve mad jealousy!ā