Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy

For What I Will, I Will, And There An End.

A Plague Of Sighing And Grief! It Blows A Man Up Like A Bladder.

O Judgment ! Thou Art Fled To Brutish Beasts, And Men Have Lost Their Reason !

Who Alone Suffers Suffers Most I' Th' Mind, Leaving Free Things And Happy Shows Behind; But Then The Mind Much Sufferance Doth O'erskip When Grief Hath Mates, And Bearing Fellowship.

I Am One, My Liege, Whom The Vile Blows And Buffets Of The World Have So Incensed That I Am Reckless What I Do To Spite The World.