Now, Good Digestion Wait On Appetite, And

I Will Instruct My Sorrows To Be Proud; For Grief Is Proud, And Makes His Owner Stoop.

Petruchio: Come, Come, You Wasp; I' Faith, You Are Too Angry. Katherine: If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My Sting. Petruchio: My Remedy Is Then, To Pluck It Out. Katherine: Ay, If The Fool Could Find Where It Lies. Petruchio: Who Knows Not Where A Wasp Does Wear His Sting? In His Tail. Katherine: In His Tongue. Petruchio: Whose Tongue? Katherine: Yours, If You Talk Of Tails: And So Farewell. Petruchio: What, With My Tongue In Your Tail? Nay, Come Again, Good Kate; I Am A Gentleman.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

O, That Our Fathers Would Applause Our Loves, To Seal Our Happiness With Hteir Consents!