Note 7 — Chapter XIII

"Her father loved me, oft invited me, Still questioned me the story of my life From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd. I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it: Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving incidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery,'of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose head touch heaven, It was my hint to speak,—such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline." —Shakespeare. (The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice.)