O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength, but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .]
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,
For every pelting, petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder,
Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarléd oak,
Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep, who with our spleens
Would all themselves laugh mortal.