Haply, for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declin’d Into the vale of years,—yet that’s not much,— She’s gone; I am abus’d, and my relief Must be to loathe her.
That handkerchief Did an Egyptian to my mother give; She was a charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people: she told her, while she kept it, ’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father Entirely to her love; but if she lost it Or made a gift of it, my father’s eye Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me; And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, To give it her.
There are no more uses of "loathe" in the play.
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I make New Year’s resolutions every year and then loathe myself for breaking them.