Every great drama has its foreshadow.
A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.