For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.
That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
Come give us a taste of your quality.
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
Why, thou deboshed fish thou...Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?