O, full of scorpions is my mind!
Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.
Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday
I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
Women being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the walls.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.