Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

He is white-livered and red-faced.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.

The time is out of joint.

Give it an understanding, but no tongue.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.