There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*

Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.

It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.

Let life be short, else shame will be too long.