O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;It is the green-ey’d monster, which doth mockThe meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger:But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o’erWho dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!(Act 3, scene 3, 165–171)

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