If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!
But here's the joy: my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery!
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.
For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?