What a deformed thief this fashion is.
Thou lump of foul deformity!
If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.