Commonplace Collection Fall 2016

We are not the first Who with best meaning have incurred the worst.

Be-monster not thy feature.

Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick bearish fangs.

How light and portable my pain seems now, When that which makes me bend makes the King bow, He childed as I fathered.

Who's there, besides foul weather?

I would not think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation.

I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, Sepulchring an adulteress.

O, how this mother wells up toward my heart! Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element's below. Where is this daughter?

Cornwall: You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Cornwall: Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell; Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Albany: Well, you may fear too far.

Hear, Nature, hear, dear goddess, hear: Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful. Into her womb convey sterility, Dry up in her the organs of increase, And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her. If she must teem, Create her child of spleen, that it may live And be a thwart disnatured torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth, With accent tears fret channels in her cheeks, Turn all her  mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt, that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child.

Lear: Does any here know me? Why, this is not Lear.

Lear: When were you won't to be so full of songs, sirrah?

Cordelia: The jewels of our father, with washed eyes