The Tempest

by: William Shakespeare

Act II, scene ii

All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
By inchmeal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. (II.ii.)

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. (II.ii.)

Thou does me yet but little hurt. Thou wilt
anon, I know it by thy trembling. (II.ii.)
That’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor. I will
kneel to him. (II.ii.)