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.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all.
Thou art the cap of all the fools.
Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.
Thou art unfit for any place but hell.
Thou art as fat as butter.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore.
Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.