Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.

O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.

O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!

You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.

Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.