William Shakespeare

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting (Hamlet Act V, Scene II)

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly-- And prais'd be rashness for it: let us know Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well When our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will--