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Shakespeare Insults
From The Taming of the Shrew
How foul and loathsome is thine image
Think'st thou, though her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?
There's small choice in rotten apples
I know she is an irksome brawling scold
Lead apes in hell
If I be waspish, best beware my sting
He was a frantic fool, hiding his better jests in blunt behaviour
A monster, a very monster in apparel
Away, you three inch fool
You heedless joltheads and unmannered slaves
Am I your bird?, I mean to shift my bush
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