The Tempest

by William Shakespeare

MIRANDA I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

“Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster.

It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy.

and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing.

My heart fly to your service; there resides,

We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

There, sir, stop: Let us not burden our remembrances with A heaviness that’s gone.