'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs

The phrase "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" is NOT from Shakespeare. It's from a play called The Mourning Bride by William Congreve.

(We only looked like we were studying dual form just now . . .)

More than that, the play, which was published in 1697, is set in Granada during Arab rule.

(Please bear with me in this trivial triumph of remembering an especially apt quotation. Not only have I been mildly scorned [hence the remembrance of the quotation], but I got a C+ on tonight's World of Islam final. That, and one of my classmates here told me that (1) I am younger than I look and (2) that I would make a good grandma. Poor me. The good news is that I made chocolate chip cookies and they all got eaten.)

Here's some more from Congreve to finish off the evening:

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!
'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.
Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night
The silent Tomb receiv'd the good Old King;
He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg'd
Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom.
Why am not I at Peace? [Weeps.]