Emotions and Feelings

The wren goes to ’t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive.

Ay, every inch a king.

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.

The worst is not, So long as we can say, “This is the worst.”

The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune.

I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.

Out, vile jelly!

Poor Tom’s a-cold.

Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill: Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

O! that way madness lies; let me shun that.

I am a man More sinn’d against than sinning.

I am a man More sinn’d against than sinning.

I will be the pattern of all patience.

I will be the pattern of all patience.

A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!

I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.

Let not women’s weapons, waterdrops, Stain my man’s cheeks!

I have full cause of weeping, but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I’ll weep. O fool! I shall go mad.

I have full cause of weeping, but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I’ll weep. O fool! I shall go mad.

Necessity’s sharp pinch!

That sir which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm.

Hysterica passio! down, thou climbing sorrow! Thy element’s below.