Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
Who can be patient in extremes?
O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.
Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.
Fear and niceness, the handmaids of all women, or more truly, woman its pretty self.