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We know what we are, but know not what we may be. Act iv. Scene 5.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,

But in battalions.*


There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,

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Alas! poor Yorick !—I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.


Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.


* See also Quotations from Pericles, Prince of Tyre.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

Act v.

Scene 2.

There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

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I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver. Ibid.

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances;
Of moving accidents, by flood and field.

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She was a wight,-if ever such wight were,—
To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.


O, most lame and impotent conclusion. Ibid.

Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop,

Not to outsport discretion.

Act 11.

Scene 3.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking:

I could well wish courtesy would invent some other

custom of entertainment.


Potations pottle deep.


He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar,

And give direction.


The gravity and stillness of your youth,

The world hath noted, and your name is great

In mouths of wisest censure.


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

O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths,
Act II. Scene 3.

to steal away their brains.

Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil.


What wound did ever heal, but by degrees?


Men should be what they seem ;

Or, those that be not, would they might seem none !

Act III. Scene 3.

Good name, in man, and woman, dear my

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:


Who steals my purse, steals trash: 'tis something,


'Twas mine, 'tis 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 ey'd monster, which doth mock *
The meat it feeds on: That cuckold lives in bliss,

* Some commentators read,


The meat it feeds on."

Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er,

Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves!

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Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ.


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

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!


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