Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.

Should All Despair That Have Revolted Wives, The Tenth Of Mankind Would Hang Themselves.

For My Grief's So Great That No Supporter But The Huge Firm Earth Can Hold It Up: Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It. (constance, From King John, Act Iii, Scene 1)

You Are Yoked With A Lamb, That Carries Anger As The Flint Bears Fire; Who, Much Enforced, Shows A Hasty Spank, And Straight Is Cold Again.

Let Me, If Not By Birth, Have Lands By Wit; All With Me's Meet That I Can Fashion Fit.

I See A Woman May Be Made A Fool, If She Had Not A Spirit To Resist.