Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York,

And all the clouds that loured upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,

Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;

And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;

I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time

Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,

And that so lamely and unfashionable

That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,—

Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,

Have no delight to pass away the time,

Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 4.

To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late;

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds

For the ashes of his fathers

And the temples of his gods?

Thomas B Macaulay (1800-1859): Lays of Ancient Rome. Horatius, xxvii.

And then it started like a guilty thing

Upon a fearful summons.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1.