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I bia.


Egregiously an ass.

Othello. Act ii. Sc. 1. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.

Sc. 3. Potations pottle-deep.

King Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear, —

With that he called the tailor lown."
Silence that dreadful bell : it frights the isle
From her propriety.

Your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure.
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter. Ibid.

Cassio, I love thee;
But never more be officer of mine.
Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ?
Cas. Ay, past all surgery.

Ibid. Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.

Ibid. O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!

Ibid. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains !

Ibid. Cas. Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.

Iugo. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used. How poor are they that have not patience !




1 Though these lines are from an old ballad given in Percy's Reliques, they are much altered by Shakespeare, and it is his version we sing in the nursery.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again."

Othello. Act üi. Sc. 3.
Speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

Ibid. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse steals trash ; 't is something,

nothing; ’T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.


O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ! It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.


But, 0, what damned minutes tells he o’er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly ? loves !

Ibid. Poor and content is rich and rich enough.

Ibid. To be once in doubt Is once to be resolv’d.


If I do prove her haggard,
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings,
I’ld whistle her off and let her down the wind,
To prey at fortune.

I am declined
Into the vale of years.



1 For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

Venus and Adonts. ? "Fondly” in Singer and White ; “soundly” in Staunton.


O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others' uses.

Othello. Act . Sc. 3
Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.

Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou owedst yesterday

Ibid, I swear 't is better to be much abused Than but to know 't a little.

He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know ’t, and he's not robb’d at all. Ibid.

O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell !
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone !

Ibid. Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof.

Ibid. No hinge nor loop To hang a doubt on.

Ibid. On horror's head horrors accumulate.

Ibid. Take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest is not safe.


But this denoted a foregone conclusion.

Othello. Act iii. Sc. 3. Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 't is of aspics' tongues !

Ibid. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont, Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up.

Ibid. Our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

Sc. 4. To beguile many, and be beguild by one. Act iv. Sc. 1. They laugh that win.”

Ibid. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of it, Iago !

Ibid. I understand a fury in your words, But not the words.

Sc. 2. Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips.

Ibid. But, alas, to make me A fixed figure for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger” at ! Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin. Ibid.

O thou weed,
Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er

been born.
O Heaven, that such companions thou ’ldst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascals naked through the world!




1 CERVANTES : Don Quixote, part ii. chap. i.
2 “His slow and moving finger" in Knight and Staunton.


'T is neither here nor there.

Othello. Act iv. Sc. 3. It makes us or it mars us.

dct r. Sc. 1. Every way makes my gain.

Ibid. He hath a daily beauty in his life.

This is the night That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

Ibid. And smooth as monumental alabaster.

Sc. 2. Put out the light, and then put out the light: If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore Should I repent me; but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.

Ibid. So sweet was ne'er so fatal.

Ibid. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge Had stomach for them all.

Ibid. One entire and perfect chrysolite.

Ibid. Curse his better angel from his side, And fall to reprobation. Every puny whipster.

Ibid. Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires.

Ibid. I have done the state some service, and they know 't. No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then, must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand, Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away

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