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The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.

O Lorenzo, If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, Become a Christian and thy loving wife!

I never heard a passion so confused, So strange, outrageous, and so variable As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: 'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!'

He tells me flatly there's no mercy for me in heaven because I am a Jew's daughter; and he says you are no good member of the commonwealth, for in converting Jews to Christians you raise the price of pork.

This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.

A virtuous and a Christianlike conclusion-- To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose, Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; But like of each thing that in season grows.

Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe; whose strength I will confirm with oath, which I doubt not You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find You need it not.

To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa and is here at the door to speak with him.

That is the way to lay the city flat, To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin.

What is the city but the people?

I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward him. If I do grow great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel? By th' mass and 'tis, like a camel indeed. Methinks it is like a weasel. It is backed like a weasel. Or like a whale. Very like a whale.

My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.

I have heard The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of the day, and at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine; and of the truth herein This present object made probation.

Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry cock-a-diddle-dowe.

The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn: Your friends are up and buckle on their armor.