Arraign her first, ‘tis Goneril—I here take my oath, before this honourable assembly—kicked the poor king her father. (
Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? (
Though well we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice, yet our power
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath (III.vii)
I would not see thy cruel nails
Pluck out his poor old eyes (III.vii)
Out, vile jelly (III.vii)