Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.

Be not too tame neither, but let your own Discretion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the word to the action.

My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.

Pastime passing excellent, if it he husbanded with modesty.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

An old black ram is tupping your white ewe