Love's Labour's Lost
KATHARINE: Yes, madam; and, moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover;
A huge translation of hypocrisy,
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. (5.2.28)
PRINCESS OF FRANCE: Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.
Are these the breed of wits so wondered at?
BOYET: Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. (5.2.134-135)
BEROWNE: This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,
And utters it again when God doth please. (5.2.162)