IACHIMO
Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon; this
hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force
the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty; this
object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion
of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I,
damn'd then,
Slaver with lips as common as
the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join
gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly
falsehood--falsehood, as
With labour; then by-peeping in
an eye
Base and unlustrous as the
smoky light
That's fed with stinking
tallow; it were fit
That all the plagues of hell
should at one time
Encounter such
revolt.
（选自《辛白林》第一幕第六场）
（译文暂缺）
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