Should't thou but hear I were licentious;
And that this body, confecrate to thee,
By ruffian luft fhould be contaminate!
Would't thou not fpit at me, and fpurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the ftain'd skin of my harlot brow,
And from my falfe hand cut the wedding-ring,
And break it with a deep divorcing vow?

I know thou can'ft; and therefore fee thou do it.
I am poffefs'd with an adulterate blot;

My blood is mingled with the crime of luft:
For if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digeft the poifon of thy flesh,

Being trumpeted by thy contagion.

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live diftain'd, thou undiflronoured.

The Comedy of Errors, A. 2. Sc. 2.

The deadly clamours of a jealous woman
Poifon more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It feems his fleeps were hinder'd by thy railing;
And therefore comes it that his head is light.
Thou fay'ft his meat was fauc'd with thy upbraidings.
Unquiet meals make ill digeftions;

Therefore the raging fire of fever bred:

And what's a fever but a fit of madnefs?
Thou fay'ft, his fports were hinder'd by thy broils.
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth enfue,
But moody and dull Melancholy,

Kinfman to grim and comfortless Despair;
And at her heels a huge infectious troop
Of pale diftemperatures, and foes to life?
In food, in fport, and life-preferving reft,
To be disturb'd, would mad a man or beaft:
The confequence is, then, thy jealous fits
Have fcar'd thy husband from the ufe of wits.
Ibid. A.

Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek-is meeting nofes
Kifling with infide lip-stopping the career
Of laughter with a figh-(a note infallible.

5.

Sc. I.

Of

Of breaking honefty)-horfing foot on foot-
Skulking in corners- -wishing clocks more swift-
Hours, minutes; the noon, midnight; and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs-theirs only,
That would unfeen be wicked-is this nothing?
Why then the world, and all that's in 't, is nothing;
The covering fky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.
The Winter's Tale, A. 1. Sc. 2.

Trifles light as air.

Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs from holy writ.

Othello, A. 3. Sc. 2.

What fenfe had I of her ftolen hours of luft?

I faw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I flept the next night well, was free, and merry;
I found not Caffio's kiffes on her lips:
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.

I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her fweet body,
So I had nothing known: O now for ever
Farewel the tranquil mind! farewel content!
Farewel the plumed troops, and the big war,
That make ambition virtue! O, farewel!
Farewel the neighing fteed, and the fhrill trump,
The fpirit-ftirring 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,
Farewel! Othello's occupation's gone..

Had it pleafed heaven

To try me with affliction; had he rain'd
All kind of fores and fhames on my bare head;:
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;.
I fhould have found in fome place of my foul.
A drop of patience: But, alas! to make me.
A fixed figure for the time of Scorn.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Yet I could bear that too; well-very well:
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart;
Where either I muft live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runɛ,
Or elfe dries up; to be difcarded thence,
Or keep it as a ciftern for foul toads

To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there!
Patience, thou young and rofe-lipp'd cherubim-
Aye, there, look grim as hell!

O thou weed!

Ibid. A. 4. Sc. 2.

Who art fo lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the fenfe aches at thee--would thou had'st
Ne'er been born!

Was this fair paper, this moft goodly book,
Made to write Whore upon? What committed!
Committed! O thou public commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but fpeak thy deeds. What committed!
Heaven ftops the nofe at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kiffes all it meets,
Is hufh'd within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear it. What committed!
Impudent ftrumpet!

It is the caufe, it is the caufe, my foul-
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the caufe-Yet I'll not shed her blood,
Nor fear that whiter fkin of her's than snow,
And fmooth as monumental alabafter.-
Yet the muft die, elfe fhe'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then-put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minifter,

I can again thy former light reftore,

Should I repent me: But once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'ft pattern of excelling nature,

I know not where is that Promethean heat

Ibid.

Ibid.

That can thy light relumine. When I have pluck'd thy rofe, I cannot give it vital growth again;

It

It needs muft wither.- I'll fmell it on the tree.
O balmy breath, that doft almoft perfuade
Juftice herself to break her fword!-Once more!
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after.-Once more, and this the last.
So fweet, was ne'er fo fatal. I muft weep,
But they are cruel tears: this forrow's heavenly;
It ftrikes where it doth love.

Ibid. A. 5. Sc. 21.

Caffio did tup her, afk thy husband elfe.
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon juft grounds
To this extremity-Thy husband knew it all..
Nay, had the been true,

If heaven would make me fuch another world:
Of one entire and perfect chryfolite,

I'd not have fold her for it..

Ibid..

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath difgrac'd me, and hinder'd me half a million; laugh'd at my loffes, mock'd at my gains, fcorn'd my nation, thwarted my bargains, cool'd my friends, heated: mine enemies. And what's his reafon? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimenfions, fenfes, affections, paffions? fed with the fame. food, hurt with the fame weapons, fubject to the fame diseases, heal'd by the fame means, warm'd and cool'd by the fame winter and fummer, as a Chriftian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if tickle us, you do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, fhall we not revenge? If we are like you in the reft, we will resembles you in that. If a Jew wrong a Chriftian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Chriftian wrong a Jew, what. fhould his fufferance be by Chriftian example? Why, Revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute; and it fhall go hard, but I will better the inftruction.

The Merchant of Venice, A. 3. Sc. 1. I'll have my bond, fpeak not against my bond: I've fworn an oath, that I will have my bond.. Thou call'dft me dog before thou had it a caufe ;

But, fince I am a dog, beware my fangs.. Ibid. A. 3. Sc. 3.

I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
I'll have my bond; and therefore fpeak no more.
I'll not be made a foft and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head, relent, and figh, and yield
To Chriftian interceffors. Follow not;
I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond.
Ibid. A. 3. Sc. 3.

IMAGINATION.

Lovers and madmen have fuch feething brains,
Such fhaping fantafies, that apprehend
More than cool reafon ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact:

One fees more devils than vast hell can hold ;

The madman: while the lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to fhape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

Such tricks hath ftrong imagination,
That, if he would but apprehend fome joy,
It comprehends fome bringer of that joy;
Or in the night, imagining fome fear,
How eafy is a bufh fuppos'd a bear!

A Midsummer Night's Dream, A. 5. Sc. £.

IMPATIENCE.

– Our nuptial hour

Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but oh, methinks, how flow
This old moon wanes! fhe lingers my defires,
Like to a stepdame, or a dowager,

Long withering out a young man's revenue.

Let them come.

Ibid. A. 1. Sc. I.

They come like facrifices in their trim;
And to the fire-eyed Maid of fmoaky war,

All