What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday

However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.

The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.