Or this from Lear:--

_My face I'll grime with filth,
Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots
And with presented nakedness outface
The winds and persecutions of the sky._

Or (for vividness) this, from _Antony and Cleopatra_, when Cleopatra
cries out and faints over Antony's body:--

_O! withered is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls
Are level now with men; the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon ..._

"Madam! Madam!" "Royal Egypt!" "Empress!" cry the waiting-maids as she
swoons. She revives and rebukes them:--

_No more, but e'en a woman, and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
To tell them that this world did equal theirs
Till they had stolen my jewel._

When a poet can, as Shakespeare does here, seize upon a Universal truth
and lay it bare; when, apprehending _passion_ in this instance, he can
show it naked, the master of gods and levelling queens with