Love's Labour's Lost
KING: A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
One who the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony…(1.1.39)
ARMADO: Thou pretty, because little.
MOTH: Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?
ARMADO: And therefore apt, because quick.
MOTH: Speak you this in my praise, master?
ARMADO: In thy condign praise.
MOTH: I will praise an eel with the same praise. (1.2.13-18)
ROSALINE: His eye begets occasion for his wit,
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest…(2.1.13)