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Shakespeare Insults
From Love's Labour Lost
The music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, with two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes
Pernicious and indubitate beggar
You talk greasily, your lips grow foul
A most pathetical nit
His intellect is not replenished, he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts
He that is likest to a hogs head
Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame
Thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon egg of discretion
He hath been five thousand years a boy
A huge translation of hypocrisy, vilely compiled, profound simplicity
Weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain
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