'tis Pride That Pulls The Country Down.

Thus Have I, Wall, My Part Discharged So; And, Being Done, Thus Wall Away Doth Go.

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—

Thus May Poor Fools Belive False Teachers.

Though It Make The Unskillful Laugh, Cannot But Make The Judicious Grieve.