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217 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
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I know my price,
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I am worth no worse a place
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But he, as loving his own pride and purposes/
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Evades them with a bombast circumstance/ Horribly stuffed with epithets of war
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a great arithmetician,/ One Michael Cassio, a Florentine-/ A fellow almost damned in a fair wife-/
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That never set a squadron in the field,/ Nor the division of a battle knows,/ More than a spinster
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I- of whom his eyes
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had seen the proof
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I follow him to serve my turn upon him./
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We cannot all be masters, nor all masters/ Cannot be truly followed
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Others there are/ Who, trimmed in forms and visages of duty,/
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keep their hearts attending on themselves
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In following him
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I follow but myself
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I am not
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what I am
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the thick-
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lips
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Plague him
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with flies
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Even now, now, very now,
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an old black ram/ Is tupping your white ewe
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This is Venice,/
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My house is not a grange
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you'll have your daughter/
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Covered with a barbary horse
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your daughter and the/ Moor are now
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making the beast with two backs
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the gross clasps
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of a lascivious Moor
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an extravagant and
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wheeling stranger
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Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds/
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By what you see them act
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But that I love the gentle Desdemona,/ I would not my unhoused free condition.
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Put into circumspection and confine
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My parts, my title, and my perfect soul/
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Shall manifest me rightly
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Faith, he tonight
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hath boarded a land carrack
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Keep up your bright swords,
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for the dew will rust them
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Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom/
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Of such a thing as thou
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thou hast practised on her with foul charms/
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Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals
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For if such actions may have passage free/
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Bondslaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.
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'Tis a pageant/
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To keep us in false gaze.
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For nature so preposterously to err...
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Sans witchcraft could not
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Rude am I
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in my speech
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little of this great world can I speak/
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More than pertains to feats of broil and battle
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To vouch this
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is no proof
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She loved me for the dangers I had passed/
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And I loved her, that she did pity them.
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That I did love the Moor to live with him,/
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My downright violence and storm of fortunes/ May trumpet to the world.
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my ancient;/
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A man he is of honesty and trust.
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If virtue no delighted beauty lack,/
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Your son-in-law is far more fair than black
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Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see/
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She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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My life upon
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her faith
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Virtue?
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A fig.
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Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our/
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wills are gardeners
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If the/ beam of our lives had not one scale of reason to/ poise another of sensuality,
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the blood and baseness/ of our natures would conduct us to most/ preposterous conclusions.
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we have reason to/ cool our raging motions,
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our carnal stings, our/ unbitted lusts
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It was a violent commencement in her, and thou shalt/
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see an answerable sequestration.
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I hate the Moor,/ And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets/ He's done my office.
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I know not if't be true/ But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,/ Will do as if for surety.
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The Moor is of a free and open nature,/ That thinks men honest that but seem so,/
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And will as tenderly be led by th'nose/ As asses are
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Hell and night/ Must bring this
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monstrous birth to the world's light
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our great captain's
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captain
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'Tis my breeding/
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That gives me this bold show of courtesy
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You rise to play
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and go to bed to work
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With as little a web as this will I ensnare as/
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great a fly as Cassio
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The heavens forbid/ But that our loves and comforts should increase/
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Even as our days do grow
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O you are well tuned now!/
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But I'll set down the pegs that make this music,/ As honest as I am
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Her eye must be fed; and what delight/
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Shall she have to look on the devil?
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The Moor...is of a constant, loving, noble nature/
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And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona/ A most dear husband
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I do suspect the lusty Moor/
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Hath leaped into my seat.
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nothing can or shall content my soul/ Till I am evened with him, wife for wife;/Or...
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that I put the Moor/ At least into a jealousy so strong/ That judgement cannot cure
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I fear Cassio with
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my night-cap too
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Knavery's plain face is
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never seen till used
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she is/ sport
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for Jove
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the lieutenant is/
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to be saved before the ancient
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Do not think,/ gentleman, I am drunk: this is my ancient, this is my/
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right hand, and this is my left.
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Are we turned
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Turks
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Reputation, reputation, reputation! O I have lost my/
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reputation. I have lost the immortal part of myself/ And what remains is bestial.
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Reputation is an idle and most false/
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imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without/ deserving
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Divinity of Hell/ When devils will the blackest sins put on,/
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They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,/ As I do now.
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I'll pour this
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pestilence into his ear
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So will I turn her virtue into pitch,/
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And out of her goodness make the net/ That shall enmesh them all.
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Dull not device
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by coldness and delay
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I never knew/
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A Florentine more kind and honest.
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If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it/
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To the last article.
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I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience..
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I'll intermingle everything he does/ With Cassio's suit
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For thy solicitor shall rather die/
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Than give thy cause away.
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Ha! I like not that...
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That he would sneak away so guilty-like/ Seeing you coming.
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I have no judgement
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in an honest face,
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I wonder in my soul,/
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What you would ask me that I should deny
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Whate'er you be,
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I am obedient.
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Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul/
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But I do love thee; and when I love thee not/ Chaos is come again.
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Is he not honest?/ Honest my lord?/
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Honest? Ay honest.
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Thou echoest me,/ As if there were some monster in thy thought,/
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Too hideous to be shown.
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For such things in a false disloyal nave/ Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just/
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They're close dilations, working from the heart/ That passion cannot rule.
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Men should be
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what they seem.
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It were not for your quiet nor your good,/ Nor for my manhood, honesty, wisdom,/
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To let you know my thoughts.
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Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,/
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Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
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he that filches from me my goos name/
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Robs me of that which not enriches him/ And makes me poor indeed.
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O beware my lord of jealousy;/
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It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock/ The meat it feeds on.
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to be once in doubt,/
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Is once to be resolved.
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'Tis not to make me jealous/ To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company/ Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well...
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Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw/ The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt
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I'll see before I doubt;
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when I doubt, prove
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I know our country
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disposition well
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She did deceive her father;/
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marrying you.
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I am bound
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to thee forever
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I do not think but Desdemona's honest...
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And yet, how nature erring from itself-
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Not to affect many proposed matches/ Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,/ Whereto we see in all things nature tends./
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Foh! One may smell in such a will most rank/ Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.
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This fellow's of exceeding honesty,/
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And know all qualities with a learned spirit of human dealings
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If I do prove her haggard,/ Though that her jesses were my dear heart strings,/
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I'd whistle her off
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Haply, for I am black/And have not those soft parts of conversation/
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That chamberers have; or for I am declined/ Into the vale of years...she's gone.
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I had rather be a toad/ And live upon the vapour of a dungeon/
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Than keep a corner in the thing I love/ For others' uses
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'tis the plague of great ones...
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'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death
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Your napkin is
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too little
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My wayward husband hath a hundred times/
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Wooed me to steal it
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she keeps it evermore about her/
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To kiss and talk to
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What he will do with it,/ Heaven knows, not I;/
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I nothing but to please his fantasy
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Trifles light as are/ Are to the jealous confirmations strong/
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As proofs of holy writ.
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The Moor already
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changes with my poison
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I had been happy, if the general camp,/ Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,/
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So I had nothing known.
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for ever/ Farwell the tranquil mind;
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farewell content
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Make me to see't: or at the least, so prove it,/
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That the probation bear no hinge nor loop/ To hang a doubt on
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If thou dost slander her and torture me,/
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Never pray more; abandon all remorse
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I think my wife be honest, and think she is not./
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I think that thou art just, and think thou art not.
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Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,/
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As salt as wolves in pride
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But this denoted
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a foregone conclusion
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I'll tear her
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all to pieces
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All my fond love thus do I blow to heave./ 'Tis gone./
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Arise, black vengeance from the hollow hell.
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my bloody thoughts with violent pace/ Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,/
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Till that a capable and wide revenge/ Swallow them up.
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I am your
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own forever
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my noble More/ Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness/
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As jealous creatures are
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while she kept it,/ 'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father/ Entirely to her love; but if she lost it/
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Or made a gift of it, my fathers eye/ Should hold her loathed
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To lose, or give't away were such perdition/
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As nothing else could match
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They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;/
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They eat us hungerly, and when they are full,/ They belch us.
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My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,/
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Were he in favour as in humour altered.
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We must think men are not gods,/ Nor of them look for such observancy/
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As fits the bridal
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They are not ever jealous for the cause/ But jealous for they're jealous.
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It is a monster/ Begot upon itself, born on itself.
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I must be
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circumstanced
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O it comes o'er my memory/
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As doth the raven o'er the infected house,/ Boding to all
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Lie with her? Lie on her?
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We say lie on her/ When they belie her
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Handkerchief- confessions-/
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handkerchief!
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Thus credulous fools are caught,/
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And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus,/ All guiltless, met reproach
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A horned man's a
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monster and a beast
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Would you would bear
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your fortune like a man
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This is some
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minx's token
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Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?...
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And did you see the handkerchief?
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my heart is turned to/
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stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
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so delicate with/ her needle, an admirable musician, O, she will sing/
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the savageness out of a bear
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I will chop her into messes.
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Cuckold me!
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Why sweet Othello-/
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[strikes her] Devil!
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this would not be believed in Venice/
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Though I should swear I saw't
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I will not stay
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to offend you
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Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate/ Call all in all sufficient?
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Is this the nature/ whom passion could not shake?
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He is much
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changed
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If any wretch have put this in your head/
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Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse
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she's a simple
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bawd
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This is a subtle whore/ A closet lock and key of villainous secrets;/
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And yet she'll kneel and pray, I have seen her do't.
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I understand a fury in your words/
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But not the words
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Heaven truly knows that
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thou art false as hell
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But alas to make me/ A fixed figure for the time of scorn/
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To point his slow unmoving finger at!
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The fountain from the which my current runs,/ Or else dries up; to be discarded thence,/
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Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads/ To knot and gender in.
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as summer flies are in the shambles,/
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That quicken even with blowing,
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O thou weed/ Who art so lovely faire, and smell'st so sweet...
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Would thou hadst never been born
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Alas what ignorant
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sin have I committed
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I took you for that cunning whore of Venice/
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That married with Othello
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I cannot weep,
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nor answers have I none
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The Moor's abused by some most villainous knave...Some such squire he was,/
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That turned your wit the seamy side without/ And made you to suspect me with the Moor.
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his unkindness may defeat my life/
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But never taint my love.
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your words and/
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performances are no kin together
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I see theres mettle in thee; and even from/
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this instant do build on thee a better opinion that ever/ before
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my love doth so approve him;/ That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns...
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have grace and favour in them
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If I do die before thee, prithee shroud me/
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In one of those same sheets
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That song tonight/
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Will not go from my mind.
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Let nobody blame him;
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his scorn I approve
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who would not make her/ husband
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a cuckold to make him a monarch?
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I do think it is their husbands' faults/
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If wives do fall
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Let husbands know/
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Their wives have sense like them
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God me such uses send/
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Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend.
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I have no great devotion to the deed,/ And yet he hath given me
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satisfying reasons/ 'Tis but a man gone
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Every way makes
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my gain
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If Cassio do remain/ He hath a daily beauty in his life/ That makes me ugly;
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and besides, the Moor/ May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril
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O brave Iago...
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thou teachest me
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Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;/
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They bed lust-stained shall with lust's blood be spotted
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I do suspect this trash/
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To be party in this injury.
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This is the night/
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That either makes me, or fordoes me quite.
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It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul-/
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Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars/ It is the cause.
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Yet I'll not shed her blood,/
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Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow
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Yet she must die,
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else she'll betray more men
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Put out the light,
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and then put out the light
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but once put out thy light...I know not where is that Promethean heat/
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That can the light relume.
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When I have plucked thy rose,/
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I cannot give it vital breath again
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O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade/
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Justice to break her sword
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I will kill thee,/
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And love thee after
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So sweet was
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ne'er so fatal
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I would not kill
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thy soul
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Why I should fear I know not/
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Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear
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I never did/ Offend you in my life;
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never loved Cassio
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O perjured woman, thou dost stone my heart,/ And mak'st me call what I intend to do/
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A murder, which I thought a sacrifice
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Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge/
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Had stomach for them all
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Kill me tomorrow:
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let me live tonight!
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I that am cruel, am yet merciful;/
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I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
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My wife? My wife?
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What wife? I have no wife
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Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse/
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Of sun and moon, and that affrighted globe/ Should yawn at alteration.
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It is the very error of the moon;/ She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,/
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And makes men mad.
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A guiltless death
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I die.
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Nobody. I myself. Farewell./
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Commend me to my kind lord.
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She's like a liar gone to burning hell/
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'Twas I that killed her.
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O the more angel she,/
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And you the blacker devil.
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Had she been true,/ If heaven would make me such another world/
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Of one entire and perfect chrysolite/ I'd not have sold her for it.
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Thou hast not half that power to do me harm/ As I have to be hurt...
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I care not for thy sword- I'll make thee known,/ Though I lost twenty lives.
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'Tis proper I obey him,
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but not now
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I will speak as liberal as the north,/ Let heaven, and men, and devils, let then all,/
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All, all cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
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I am not valiant neither/
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But every puny whipster gets my sword
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Willow, willow, willow/ Moor she was chaste.
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She loved thee, cruel Moor
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Behold,
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I have a weapon
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I have seen the day/ That with this little arm and this good sword,/
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I have made my way through more impediments/ Than twenty times your stop.
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But, o vain boast,/
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Who can control his fate?
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Here is my journey's end, here is my butt/
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And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
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Where should
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Othello go?
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O ill-starred wench,/
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Pale as thy smock
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Whip me, ye devils,/ From the possession of this heavenly sight...
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Roast me in sulphur./ Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire,
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That's he that
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was Othello
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Othello, that wast once so good,/
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Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave
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An honourable murderer if you will;/
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For naught I did in hate, but all in honour.
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From this time forth
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I never will speak word
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Soft you; a word or two before you go./
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I have done the state some service, and they know't./ No more of that.
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Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate/
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Nor set down aught in malice.
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Of one that lived not wisely, but too well;/
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Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought/ Perplexed in the extreme
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one whose hand/
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Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away.
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one whose subdued eyes/ Albeit unused to the melting mood/
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Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees/ Their medicinable gum
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I took by th' throat the circumcised dog/
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And smote him thus.
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this,/
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Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
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O spartan dog,/ More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea,/
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Look on the tragic loading of this bed./ This is thy work.
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I saw Othello's visage in his mind;/ And to his honours and his valiant parts/
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Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate
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Myself will straight aboard and, to the state/
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These heavy acts with heavy heart relate
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