The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.
Act iv. Sc. 6.
Ay, every inch a king.
Act. iv. Sc. 6.
Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.
Act iv. Sc. 6.
Through tattered clothes small vices do appear;
Robes and furred gowns hide all.
Act v. Sc. 3.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us.