From The Comedy of Errors
There's many a man hath more hair than wit
If thou art changed to aught, tis to an ass
She's the kitchen wench, and all grease ; and I know not what use to put her but to make a lamp of her and run her from her own light. I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
Her complexion is like Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept, for why, she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it
No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip, she is spherical, like a globe, I could find out contries in her
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, ill faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere, vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, stigmatical in making, worse in mind
Dissembling harlot, thou are false in all