Rubbing the poor itch, * * * Make yourselves scabs. Coriolanus, Act I., Sc. I.
I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. I.
My elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow. Much Ado, Act III., Sc. III.
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds. Taming of the Shrew, Ind., Sc. II.
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains. King John, Act III., Sc. I.
Dro. S. She sweats—a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. Ant. S. That’s a fault that water will mend. Dro. S. No, sir, ’tis in grain. Comedy of Errors, Act III., Sc. II.
I had rather heat my liver with drinking. Antony and Cleopatra, Act I., Sc. II.
Let my liver rather heat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Merchant of Venice, Act I., Sc. I.
Were my wife’s liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. Winter’s Tale, Act I., Sc. II.
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Sc. III.