Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.

I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.

Tam: What begg’st thou then? fond woman, let me go. Lav: ’Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell. O! keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man’s eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. Tam: So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. Dem: Away! for thou hast stay’d us here too long. Lav: No grace! no womanhood! Ah, beastly creature, The blot and enemy to our general name. Confusion fall—