Anger and Indignation

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts! unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top full Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers.

O! the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us.

I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time’s flies.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.

Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

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

Out, vile jelly!

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

I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.

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!

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.

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To have a thankless child!

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child, Than the sea-monster.

Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

In Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban’d Turk Beat a Venetian and traduc’d the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him thus.

O thou weed! Who art so lovely fair and smell’st so sweet That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne’er been born.

O heaven! that such companions thou’dst unfold, And put in every honest hand a whip To lash the rascals naked through the world.

I understand a fury in your words, But not the words.

Like to the Pontick sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont, Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up.