The Tragedy of Othello

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Methuen, 1903 - 256 pages
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Page 35 - Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round...
Page 40 - Took once a pliant hour; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels...
Page 201 - Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips : Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; I should have found in some part of my soul A drop of patience...
Page 237 - If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : My wife ? my wife ? what wife ! I have no wife. O, insupportable ! O heavy hour ! Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration.
Page 232 - 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.
Page 249 - tis a lost fear; Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires; — Where should Othello go? — Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill-starr'd wench ! Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.
Page 9 - It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be lago : In following him, I follow but myself ; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end...
Page 162 - Never, lago. 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. — Now, by yond marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow {Kneels, I here engage my words.
Page 6 - That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster...
Page 166 - 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 ! lago.

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