Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's

Dissembling Harlot, Thou Art False In All!

Use Every Man After His Desert, And Who Should Scape Whipping?

O Ceremony, Show Me But Thy Worth? What Is Thy Soul Of Adoration? Art Thou Aught Else But Place, Degree, And Form, Creating Awe And Fear In Other Men?

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.

But Kate, Dost Thou Understand Thus Much English? Canst Thou Love Me?" Catherine: "i Cannot Tell." Henry: "can Any Of Your Neighbours Tell, Kate? I'll Ask Them.