O, full of scorpions is my mind!

They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain

As good luck would have it, comes in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach, and in her invention, and Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket.

In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?