“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!”

“The time is out of joint.”

“Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.”

“Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,Pale in her anger washes all the air,That rheumatic diseases do abound;And through this distemperature we seeThe seasons alter: hoary-headed frostsFall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.”