Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word. If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from mire— Or, save your reverence, love— wherein thou sickest up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, Ho! (Shakespeare 1.4 40-44)
Romeo, good night. I'll to my truckle bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. Come, shall we go? (Shakespeare 2.1 42-44)
“I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’both your houses! Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! A braggart, a rogue, a villain that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.” (Shakespeare, 3.1 100-108).