Say she rail; why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.

My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!

The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.

What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight

I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph.