'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomissement, et la truie lavee au bourbier;' thou makest use of any thing
You have good judgment in horsemanship Be warned by me, then: they that ride so and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my mistress
O then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your straight strossers
Your mistress bears well Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress
I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress Then did they imitate that which I composed to my courser, for my horse is my mistress
Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a...
It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch and his countenance enforces homage
And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in Patient stillness while his rider mounts him: he is indeed a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts
You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns Ca, ha! he bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When I bestride hi
It is the best horse of Europe Will it never be morning? My lord of Orleans, and my lord high constable, you talk of horse and armour?
Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy. And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen Not so, I do beseech your majesty
By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say Our mettle is bred out and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors
O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters?