Beauty within itself should not be wasted.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me?" Catherine: "I cannot tell." Henry: "Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.

When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray!

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.

Cease to lament for that thou canst not help; and study help for that which thou lamentest.

Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!