Get you gone, you dwarf,
You minimus of hindering knotgrass made,
You bead, you acorn!

Timon: Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins
Shall forth at vast of night that they may work
All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made 'em.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

CASSIO: Dost thou hear, my honest friend?
CLOWN: No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you.
CASSIO: Prithee, keep up thy quillets.

Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.