O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon
If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician
Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me
O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? Yes, sir, I have indeed.
It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you?
This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported, with no worse nor better guard But with a k
What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange. Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you
But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. Patience, good sir
The worser welcome: I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. Sir, sir, sir,--
What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? Signior, is all your family within?
Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour Here is her
O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but
Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. I would not follow him then
