May ravage with impunity a rose.
The big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.
Ful wel she sange the service devine,
Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;
And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly,
After the scole of Stratford atte bowe,
For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.
He would not, with a peremptory tone,
Assert the nose upon his face his own.
I never thrust my nose into other men's porridge. It is no bread and butter of mine; every man for himself, and God for us all.
Nose, nose, nose, nose!
And who gave thee that jolly red nose?
Sinament and Ginger, Nutmegs and Cloves,
And that gave me my jolly red nose.
Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake, Gaffer Grey?
And why does thy nose look so blue?
If the nose of Cleopatra had been shorter, the whole face of the earth would have been changed.
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
As clear and as manifest as the nose in a man's face.
Plain as the nose on a man's face.
Paying through the nose.
His nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Another tumble! That's his precious nose!
A man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his nose to the grindstone.
Those who in quarrels interpose
Must often wipe a bloody nose.