His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. For every trifle are they set upon me. Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me, For bringing wood in slowly. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. Holds palm out testing for rain.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
I have not scaped drowning to be afeard now of your four legs. This is some monster of the isle, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. I will give him some relief. This will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly. I'll bring my wood home faster.