Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

There is an old poor man,. . . . Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.

My heart is ever at your service.

I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.

After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.