By my troth, ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours: cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with a bluish tinsel […]

He got a slap on the wrist, but I don't think he'll reform.

‘I’m in trouble, I hit a policeman—chinned him. He was messin’ me about, pushin’ me around on the pavement, so I chinned him, didn’t I? […] ’

Stop mucking about and get on with your work!