All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.
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Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 3.
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Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horse back at mine hostess' door. -King John. Act ii. Sc. 1.
