During a storm, King Lear:
"This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in...
Poor naked wretches, whereso'ever you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your looped and windowed raggedness defend you
From such seasons as these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp.
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may's shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just."
[from Shakespeare's King Lear, Act III, Lines 27-41]