A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.
The devil is a gentleman.
When the mind's free, The Body's delicate.
The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.