Like A Barber's Chair That Fits All

Canst Thou Not Minister To A Mind Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven.

Do You See Yonder Cloud That’s Almost In Shape Of A Camel? Polonius: By The Mass, And ‘tis Like A Camel, Indeed. Hamlet: Methinks It Is Like A Weasel. Polonius: It Is Backed Like A Weasel. Hamlet: Or Like A Whale? Polonius: Very Like A Whale.

Swear Me, Kate, Like A Lady As Thou Art, A Good Mouth-filling Oath.

For A Quart Of Ale Is A Dish For A King.