Emilia: Of all flowers,
Methinks a rose is best. Woman: Why, gentle madam? Emilia: It is the very emblem of a maid.
For when the west wind courts her gently
How modestly she blows, and paints the sun
With her chaste blushes! When the north comes near her,
Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,
She locks her beauties in her bud again,
And leaves him to base briars.
To marry him is hopeless;
To be his whore is witless. Out upon't!
What pushes are we wenches driven to
When fifteen once has found us?
Daughter, scene iv
Once, he kissed me.
I loved my lips the better ten days after:
Would he would do so every day!