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I abhor this dilatory sloth.
– William Shakespeare
You have as little honesty as honour.
All goodness is poison to thy stomach.
Wife of small wit!
I am traduced by ignorant tongues.
Your heart is crammed with arrogancy, spleen and pride.
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
Woe upon ye, and all such false professors!
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
What rubbish and what offal!
Every man hence to his idle bed.
He’s a tried and valiant soldier. So is my horse.
Think him as a serpent’s egg, which, when hatched, would, as his kind, grow mischievious.
How vile doth this cynic rhyme!
He must be taught, and trained, and bid go forth: A barren-spirited fellow.
He is given to sports, to wildness, and much company.
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough to mask thy monstrous visage?
On my knee I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!
If his name be George, I’ll call him Peter.
So vile a lout!
You have some sick offence within your mind.
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.
What a madcap hath heaven lent us here!
Sell your face for five pence and ’tis dear.
What cracker is this same that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath?
You showed your teeth like apes, and fawned like hounds, And bowed like bondmen.
He is a very serpent in my way.
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be.
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man.