What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.

Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.

In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!

Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.