"The labour we delight in physics pain/ this is the door.
I'll make so bold to call, / For 'tis my limited service.
Goes the king hence today?
He does: he did appount so.
The night has been unruly: where we lay,/ Our chimneys were blown
down; and, as they say, / Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, / and prophesying with accents terrible /
Of dire combustion and confus'd events / New hatch's to the woeful time. The obscure bird / Calmou'd the livelong night;
some say the earth was feverous and did shake." II, iii, 49-62.