This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.
Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.
Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
To whom God will, there be the victory.
Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
Foul whisp'rings are abroad.