“She is your treasure, she must have a husband;I must dance bare-foot on her wedding dayAnd for your love to her lead apes in hell.Talk not to me: I will go sit and weepTill I can find occasion of revenge.”

“You know your mother means to feast with me,And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad:Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dustAnd with your blood and it I'll make a paste,And of the paste a coffin I will rearAnd make two pasties of your shameful heads,And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam,Like to the earth swallow her own increase.This is the feast that I have bid her to,And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; (5.2.18)”

“She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used.”

“If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanksAs though she bid me stay by her a week.If she deny to wed, I'll crave the dayWhen I shall ask the banns, and when be married.”

“I am glad I have found this napkin.This was her first remembrance from the Moor,My wayward husband hath a hundred timesWooed me to steal it, but she so loves the token— For he conjured her she should ever keep it— That she reserves it evermore about herTo kiss and talk to. I’ll ha’ the work ta’en out,And give’t Iago. What he will do with it,Heaven knows, not I.I nothing, but to please his fantasy.”

“When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,Threatening the welking with his big-swoln face?And wilt though have a reason for this coil?I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow!She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;Then must my earth with her continual tearsBecome a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,But like a drunkard must I vomit them.Then give me leave, for losers will have leaveTo ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.”

“And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why, then, I'll tell her plain, she sings as sweetly as a nightingail: Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly washt with dew: Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to be wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.”