More from Beatrice
- I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
- No, not till a hot January.
- Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever. One foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never. Then sigh not so but let them go and be you blithe and bonny, converting all your sounds of woe into hey nonny nonny.
- The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.
- You always end with a jade's trick. I know you of old.
Last reviewed 2026-07-09