OTHELLO.
Wife, come to life, forgive what your black lover did,
Spit the feathers from your mouth, and munch roast beef;
Iago he may go and be toss’d in the coverlet
That smother’d you, because you pawn’d my handkerchief.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Why, neger, so eager about your rib immaculate?
Milwood shows for hanging us they’ve got an ugly knack o’ late;
If on beauty ’stead of duty but one peeper bent he sees,
Satan waits with Dolly baits to hook in us apprentices.
OMNES.
Round let us bound, for this is Punch’s holyday,
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza! huzza!
HAMLET.
I’m Hamlet in camlet; my ap and peri-helia
The moon can fix, which lunatics makes sharp or flat.
I stuck by ill luck, enamour’d of Ophelia,
Old Polony like a sausage, and exclaim’d, “Rat, rat!”
GHOST.
Let Gertrude sup the poison’d cup—no more I’ll be an actor in
Such sorry food, but drink home-brew’d of Whitbread’s manufacturing.