Hang him, swaggering rascal!
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.