Prison, my lord?
Denmark's a prison.
Then is the world one.
A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and
dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst.
We think not so, my lord.
Why then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or
bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
Enter LEAR and Fool.
|Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!|
|You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout||4|
|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,||8|
|Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!|
|Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once|
|That make ingrateful man!|
|Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing; here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.||12|
|Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!|
|Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:|
|I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;|
|I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,||16|
|You owe me no subscription: then, let fall|
|Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,|
|A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.|
|But yet I call you servile ministers,||20|
|That have with two pernicious daughters join'd|
|Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head|
|So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul." |
And a the first scene of Julius Caesar also STUCK in my head, HENCE, HOME YOU IDLE CREATURES! I just love it, don't know why, I love it.
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