You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.
Where’s Fulvia’s process? Caesar’s I would say? both?
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt’s queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Caesar’s homager: else so thy cheek pays shame
When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers!
Antony and Cleopatra (1.1.30-6)
Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness: can Fulvia die?
Antony and Cleopatra (1.3.68-9)
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?
The Comedy of Errors (2.1.116)
That hath made him mad.
I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
I had not quoted him: I fear’d he did but trifle,
And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy!
By heaven, it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion.
To my sick soul, as sin’s true nature is,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
O, how hast thou with ‘jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance!
Henry V (2.2.130-1)
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy!
The Merchant of Venice (3.2.115-16)
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leap’d into my seat; the thought whereof
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;
And nothing can or shall content my soul
Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife,
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
At least into a jealousy so strong
That judgment cannot cure.
As, I confess, it is my nature’s plague
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger.
Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.
My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along, and I must after,
For love, thou know’st, is full of jealousy.
Two Gentlemen of Verona (2.4.175-8)
Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love?–a savage jealousy
That sometimes savours nobly.
Twelfth Night (5.1.120-23)