William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

O HEAVENS,

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway

Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,

Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!

*****

RUMBLE thy belly-full! Spit, fire! spout, rain!

Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:

I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,

I never gave you kingdom, called you children;

You owe me no subscription; why then, let fall

Your horrible pleasure; here I stand your slave,

A poor infirm, weak, and despised old man;—

But yet I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious daughters joined

Your high-engendered battles ’gainst a head

So old and white as this. O! O! ’tis foul!