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

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


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.

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


But, oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves !

Ibid. Poor and content is rich and rich enough.


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 Adonis. “Fondly”

"' in Singer and White ; "soundly" in Staunton.

2 66

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

Ibid. 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.

Oh, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content !
Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars
That make ambition virtue! Oh, 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, ( 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 !

Ibid. 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.

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

1 CERVANTES : Don Quixote, part . 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.

Act v. Sc. 1.




Sc. 2.

Every way makes my gain.
He hath a daily beauty in his life.

This is the night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite.
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
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.
So sweet was ne'er so fatal.



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.

Ibid. 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

Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose subdued eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum.

Othello. Act . Sc. 2.
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him, thus.

Ibid. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

Antony and Cleopatra. Act i. Sc. 1.

On the sudden A Roman thonght hath struck him.

Sc. 2.


This grief is crowned with consolation.
Give me to drink mandragora.
Where's my serpent of old Nile ?

Sc. 5.


A morsel for a monarch.


My salad days, When I was green in judgment.

Ibid. Epicurean cooks Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite. Act ii. Sc. 1. Small to greater matters must give way.

Sc. 2. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn’d on the water; the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description.

Ibid. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety.


I have not kept my square; but that to come
Shall all be done by the rule.

Sc, 3.

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