The 7 Harshest Insults in Fiction
How now, mad spirit?
What night-rule now about this haunted grove? (III.ii.)
Then will two at once woo one.
That must needs be sport alone.
And those things do best please me
That befall prepost’rously. (III.ii.)
What though I be not so in grace as you—
So hung upon with love, so fortunate—
But miserable most, to love unloved? (III.ii.)
Get you gone, you dwarf,
You minimus of hind’ring knotgrass made,
You bead, you acorn! (III.ii.)
Jack shall have Jill.
Nought shall go ill. (III.ii.)