A Thousand Idle Pranks

Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to wed.'

There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor!

thy father, that poor rag,... who in spite put stuff To some she-beggar and compounded thee

HOSTESS QUICKLY: Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd me in mine house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a cares not mischief he does, if his weapon be out; he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. FANG: If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. HOSTESS QUICKLY: No, nor I neither

Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't i' the orchard.

Wife, take her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her entertainment.

Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

DESDEMONA: O, these men, these men! Dost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,—That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross kind? EMILIA: There be some such, no question. DESDEMONA: Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? EMILIA: Why, would not you? DESDEMONA: No, by this heavenly light! EMILIA: Nor I neither by this heavenly light; I might do't as well i' the dark.

Oh, if thou couch But one night with her, every hour in't will Take hostage of thee for a hundred,

there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust,

But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house He knew me as a wife.

IAGO: Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds. DESDEMONA: O, fie upon thee, slanderer! IAGO: Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work.

How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver, brain and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd Her sweet perfections with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers: Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

No, holy father; throw away that thought; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth.

We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber.

Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.