Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night carous’d Potations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch: Three lads of Cyprus,—noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle,— Have I to-night fluster’d with flowing cups, And they watch too.
There are a kind of men so loose of soul, That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs: One of this kind is Cassio: In sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves"; And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry, "O sweet creature!" and then kiss me hard, As if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots, That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg Over my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d; and then Cried, "Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!"
There are no more uses of "wary" in the play.
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She was taught to be wary of strangers.
She looked wary as she reached out to pet her friend’s new dog.