The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.

A crier of green sauce.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too.

Would the cook were o' my mind!

Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding. Have I not tarried? Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Have I not tarried? Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Still have I tarried. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.