To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces

Why, I' Faith, Methinks She's Too Low For A High Praise, Too Brown For A Fair Praise And Too Little For A Great Praise: Only This Commendation I Can Afford Her, That Were She Other Than She Is, She Were Unhandsome; And Being No Other But As She Is, I Do Not Like Her. (benedick, From Much Ado About Nothing)

If I Can Catch Him Once Upon The Hip, I Will Feed Fat The Ancient Grudge I Bear Him.

O, Swear Not By The Moon, The Fickle Moon, The Inconstant Moon, That Monthly Changes In Her Circle Orb, Lest That Thy Love Prove Likewise Variable

A Table Full Of Welcome Makes Scarce One Dainty Dish.

I Love A Ballad In Print O' Life, For Then We Are Sure They Are True.