Yea, wait a breath, I’ll show thy wrongs too deep
To languish in a monkish wilderness.
What hast thy soul to do with weeds and turf?
Assert thy greatness or else kill thyself.
Thou art not fit to cumber this flat earth
If thou canst not assert thy dignity.
Were I mis-shapen o’er a thousand times,
Had but one eye, a wen upon my neck,
And swart and foul as foulest Caliban,