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Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
– William Shakespeare
A plague o’ these pickle-herring!
Lady, you are the cruell’st she alive.
A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can.
He speaks nothing but madman.
How have you come so early by this lethargy!
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?
If you be mad, be gone: if you have reason, be brief.
Bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything illegitimate.
How your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.
Let them hang themselves in their own straps.
What great ones do, the less will prattle of.
Th’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Go to, y’are a dry fool: I’ll no more of you.
A fellow o’ th’ strangest mind i’ th’ world.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere.
Here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
I have said too much unto a heart of stone.
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness?
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
I have not seen such a Firago.
A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne’er were preached! Out of my sight!
A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare.
Give me now leave to leave thee.
Out, hyperbolical fiend!
Fie, thou dishonest Satan! (I call thee by the most modest terms, for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy.)
I would not be in some of your coats for twopence.
What manner of man is he? Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form.