“But she makes hungryWhere she most satisfies...”

“Never; he will not:Age cannot wither her, nor custom staleHer infinite variety: other women cloyThe appetites they feed: but she makes hungryWhere most she satisfies;”

“It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't.”

“Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tearsHad left the flushing of her gallèd eyes,She married. O, most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!”

“O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.”

“Though she be but little, she is fierce!”

“And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why, then, I'll tell her plain, she sings as sweetly as a nightingail: Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly washt with dew: Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to be wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.”