As You Like It
Who might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,--
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed-- (3.5.37)
Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together.
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. (3.5.66)
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
humour and like enough to consent. What would you
say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
I would kiss before I spoke. (4.1.12)