This Liberty Is All That I Request.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

A Gentleman That Loves To Hear Himself Talk, Will Speak More In A Minute Than He Will Stand To In A Month.

Two Lovely Berries Moulded On One Stem; So, With Two Seeming Bodies, But One Heart.

He's Loved Of The Distracted Multitude, Who Like Not In Their Judgement, But Their Eyes.

Most Subject Is The Fattest Soil To Weeds.