Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?

Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.

To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.