Blow winds and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow
3.2.21657You cataracts, and hurricanoes spout,
3.2.31658Till you have drenched
1436our steeples, drowned the cocks.
O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is
16661444better than this rainwater out o'door.
1445Good nuncle,
1667in; ask thy daughters' blessing.
1446Here's a night pities
1668neither wise men, nor fools.
Rumble thy bellyful. Spit fire, spout rain.
3.2.121670Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters.
3.2.131671I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.
3.2.141672I never gave you kingdom, called you children.
3.2.151673You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
3.2.161674Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,
3.2.171675A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.
3.2.191677That will with two pernicious daughters join
3.2.201678Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head
3.2.211679So old and white as this. Oh ho, 'tis foul.
He that has a house to put's head in, has a good
1681headpiece.
3.2.24 Before the head has any,
3.2.28 What he his heart should make,
3.2.30 And turn his sleep to wake.
3.2.311686For there was never yet fair woman but she made
1687mouths in a glass.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience;
Who's there?
Marry here's grace, and a codpiece, that's a
1693wise man and a fool.
Alas, sir, are you here?
1470Things that love night
Th'affliction, nor the fear. Let the great gods
3.2.451703That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads
3.2.461704Find out their enemies now. Tremble thou wretch
3.2.481706Unwhipped of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
3.2.491707Thou perjured, and thou simular of virtue
3.2.501708That art incestuous; caitiff, to pieces shake,
3.2.511709That under covert and convenient seeming
More sinned against than sinning. Alack, bare-headed?
3.2.561715Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel.
3.2.571716Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest.
3.2.581717Repose you there while I to this hard house--
3.2.591718More harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised--
3.2.601719Which even but now, demanding after you,
Their scanted courtesy. My wits begin to turn.
3.2.631723[To the Fool] Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold?
3.2.641724I am cold myself.
[To Kent] Where is this straw, my fellow?
3.2.70He that has and a little tiny wit,
3.2.721731Must make content with his fortunes fit,
True, boy. [To Kent] Come bring us to this hovel.
This is a brave night to cool a courtesan.
1735I'll speak a prophecy ere I go.
3.2.761736When priests are more in word than matter,
3.2.791739No heretics burned but wenches' suitors;
3.2.841744When usurers tell their gold i'th'field,
3.2.87Come to great confusion.
3.2.881747Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
3.2.901749This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time.