From The Merry Wives of Windsor
You Banbury cheese
How now, Mephostophilus
I say the gentlemen had drunk himself out of his five senses
O base hungarian wight
Rogues, hence, avant vanish like hailstones go
What tempest, I trow, threw this whale with so many tons of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor
The wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease
I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man
Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style
Art thou lunatics?
Dishonest varlet, we cannot misuse him enough
Out of my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!
Vile worm, you were overlooked even in thy birth
She's a great lubbery boy