O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine; you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.
An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence.
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.