[Othello continued. And of the Cannibals that each other eat, Act i. Sc. 3. And often did beguile her of her tears, 'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful : She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake; She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used. 1 'these things to hear,' Singer, Knight. Othello continued.] Put money in thy purse. Act i. Sc. 3. The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. Framed to make women false. Ibid. Ibid. One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens. For I am nothing, if not critical. Act ii. Sc. 1. I am not merry; but I do beguile Ibid. Ibid. She was a wight, if ever such wight were, Des. To do what? - Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. Des. O, most lame and impotent conclusion! Ibid. You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. Egregiously an ass. Ibid. Ibid. Potations pottle deep. Act ii. Sc. 3. 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.1 Ibid. Silence that dreadful bell! it frights the isle From her propriety. Your name is great In mouths of wisest censure. Ibid. Ibid. 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. [Othello continued. Cassio, I love thee; But nevermore be officer of mine. Act ii. Sc. 3. Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? Cas. Ay, past all surgery. Ibid. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part, sir, 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 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. Iago. Come, come; good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used. Ibid. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, 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, Ibid. dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse, steals trash; 't is something, nothing; 1 For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. Venus and Adonis. Othello continued.] 'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thou sands; But he that filches from me my good name, And makes me poor indeed. Act iii. Sc. 3. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; . It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on. Ibid. But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er, Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly 1 loves! Ibid. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough. 1 Ibid. To be once in doubt, Is once to be resolved. Ibid. If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were mydear heart-strings I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, That we can call these delicate creatures, ours, Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, I 'fondly,' White, Knight. 'soundly,' Staunton. [Othello continued. Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday. Act iii. Sc. 3. 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, th' 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. On horror's head horrors accumulate. Ibid. Ibid. But this denoted a foregone conclusion. Ibid. Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 't is of aspics' tongues! Our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. To beguile many, and be beguiled by one. They laugh that win. Ibid. Act iii. Sc. 4. Act iv. Sc. 1. Ibid. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago! Ibid. |