| Voplone; Mosca Act 3, Scene 1 | I fear I begin to grow in love/With my dear self and my most prosperous parts,…Success hath made me wanton. |
| Act 2, Scene 3: Corvino's Description of Cealia | Death of mine honour, with the city's fool!/A juggling, tooth-drawing, prattling mountebank |
| Volpone's schpel to Cecelia | Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,/Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove, |
| Sir Politick Would-Be's arguments against travel, Act 2, Scene 1 | That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed project/Of knowing men’s minds and manners |
| The Last Line, Act 5, Scene 8 | The seasoning of a play, is the applause./Now, though the Fox be punish'd by the laws,...If not, fare jovially, and clap your hands. |
| The Flea, closing lines | ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:/Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,/Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee. |
| Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress | And now, like amorous birds of prey,/Rather at once our time devour/Than languish in his slow-chapped power. |
