Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.
Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
I understand a fury in your words But not your words.
I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.