āI have supped full with horrors.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
āSome smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time.ā
āTo wilful men, the injuries that they themselves procure must be their schoolmasters.ā
āExperience is by industry achieved, And perfected by the swift course of time.ā