Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!
Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.
Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
What a fool honesty is.
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.