The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us.
The dark and vicious place where thee he got
Cost him his eyes. (5.3.4)
Sir, this young fellow's mother could [conceive]: whereupon
she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son
for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.
Do you smell a fault?
I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it
being so proper. (1.1.3)