To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor—
ut thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in them power
Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on
your gown;
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd.
I will incontinently drown myself.
BRABANTIO
My daughter! O, my daughter!
DUKE OF VENICE Senator
Dead?
BRABANTIO
Ay, to me;
