I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient.

O, pardon me, my lord! it oft falls out,To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.I something do excuse the thing I hate.

Who can be patient in extremes?

There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing.

Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.