O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!

I will go tell him of Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither and back again.

Así pues viviré, creceré y moriré,
Mi señor, antes que entregar mi virginidad
A un dueño de cuyo yugo aborrecido
No quiere mi alma ser esclava

Get you gone, you dwarf,
You minimus of hindering knotgrass made,
You bead, you acorn!

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

CASSIO: Dost thou hear, my honest friend?
CLOWN: No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you.
CASSIO: Prithee, keep up thy quillets.