I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood".

It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, "Thus diddest thou;"

Love will not be spurred to what it loathes

They are but beggars that can count their worth.

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.

If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.