Shakespeare:
I think the Greeks are over praised. Fancy making Love an inferior goddess, born of salt water. [“Ho! Ho!” laughs Chettle.] Love’s born of summer air and light; flowers are her footprints and the stars sing to her coming: Venus, not Jupiter, reigns in Heaven and Earth.
Jonson:
[Interrupting.] Good, old Knowell, good! But let’s have a toast, or you’ll talk us all to death. Here’s to the ever-sacred memory of our great Queen, who lets players and playwrights live in spite of Puritans and preachers.
Fletcher:
To the Virgin who beat the Spaniards, and made Britain mistress of the seas.
Dekker:
In the same way the dog made the dinner, for he looked on, while men feasted.
Selden:
Hush, hush! No disloyalty!