Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!

Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?

The devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs--he will give the devil his due.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell

Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.

Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.