Bottled spider!
I do wish thou were a dog, that I might love thee something.
There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.
Thou leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, knot-pated, agatering, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish pouch!
Let’s make like a banana and split.
You are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion, where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman’s beard.
Foul spoken coward, that thund’rest with thy tongue, and with thy weapon nothing dares perform.
Men from children nothing differ.
Thou art as fat as butter.
Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.
I am sick when I do look on thee.
If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put I at the beginning and U at the end.
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
He has not so much brain as ear-wax.
His wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard.
Peace, ye fat guts!
What a thrice-double ass!
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore.
By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I’d beat thee. Methink’st thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee.
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver’d boy.
Thine face is not worth sunburning.
The rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.
Was the Duke a flesh-monger, a fool and a coward?
Thy tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile.
Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage.
A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.
Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish!
Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese.
Thou art the cap of all the fools.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all.
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
That kiss is as comfortless as frozen water to a starved snake.
Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade.
You, minion, are too saucy.
I scorn you, scurvy companion.
If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gall.
Thou lump of foul deformity.
Eater of broken meats!
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens!
Thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows!
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat.
His wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard.
O you beast! I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip, she is spherical, like a globe, I could find out countries in her.
This woman’s an easy glove, my lord, she goes off and on at pleasure.
Thy tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile.
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