Iago.
&wlquo;Oth.
&wlquo;Excellent Wretch!—Perdition catch my soul,
&wlquo;But I do love thee; and when I love thee not,
&wlquo;Chaos is come again.
Iago.
My noble lord,—
Oth.
What dost thou say, Iago?
Iago.
Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,
Know of your love?
Oth.
He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask?
Iago.
But for a satisfaction of my thought,
No farther harm.
Oth.
Why of thy thought, Iago?
Iago.
I did not think, he'd been acquainted with it.
Oth.
Oh, yes, and went between us very oft.
Iago.
Indeed!
Oth.
Indeed! ay, indeed. Discern'st thou aught in that?
Is he not honest?
Iago.
Honest, my lord?
Oth.
Honest? ay, honest.
Iago.
My lord, for aught I know.
Oth.
What doest thou think?
Iago.
Think, my lord!—
Oth.
Think, my lord! why, by heav'n, thou echo'st me;
As if there were some monster in thy thought,
Too hideous to be shewn. Thou dost mean something:
I heard thee say but now, thou lik'dst not that,—
When Cassio left my Wife. What did'st not like?
And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,
In my whole course of wooing; thou cry'dst, indeed?
And did'st contract and purse thy brow together,
-- 336 --
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,
Shew me thy thought.
Iago.
My lord, you know, I love you.
Oth.
I think, thou doest:
&wlquo;And for I know, thou art full of love and honesty,
&wlquo;And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,
&wlquo;Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more
&wlquo;For such things, in a false disloyal knave,
&wlquo;Are tricks of custom; but, in a man that's just,
4 note
They're cold dilations working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.
Iago.
For Michael Cassio,
I dare be sworn, I think, that he is honest.
Oth.
I think so too.
Iago.
Men should be what they seem.
5 note
Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem knaves!
Oth.
Certain, men should be what they seem.
Iago.
Why, then, I think, Cassio's an honest man.
Oth.
Nay, yet there's more in this;
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.
Iago.
Good my lord, pardon me.
Tho' I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that, all slaves are free to;
-- 337 --
Utter my thoughts!—Why, say, they're vile and false;
As where's that Palace, whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure,
But some uncleanly apprehensions
6 noteKeep leets and law-days, and in sessions sit
With meditations lawful?
Oth.
Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.
Iago.
I do beseech you,
7 note
Think I, perchance, am vicious in my guess,
(As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
To spie into abuse; and oft my jealousie
Shapes faults that are not;) I intreat you then,
From one that so imperfectly conjects,
Your wisdom would not build your self a trouble
Out of my scattering and unsure observance:
It were not for your quiet, nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.
Oth.
What dost thou mean?
Iago.
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
-- 338 --
&plquo;Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
&plquo;'Twas mine, 'tis his; and has been slave to thousands;
&plquo;But he, that filches from me my good name,
&plquo;Robs me of That, which not enriches him,
&plquo;And makes me poor indeed.
Oth.
I'll know thy thoughts—
Iago.
You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.
Oth.
Ha!
Iago.
Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousie;
It is a green-ey'd monster, 8 note
which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But, oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er,
Who doats, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves!
Oth.
O misery!
Iago.
Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough;
But riches endless, is 9 noteas poor as winter,
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
-- 339 --
Good heaven! the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousie!
Oth.
Why? why is this?
Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousie?
To follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt,
Is once to be resolv'd. Exchange me for a goat,
When I shall turn the business of my soul
To such exsuffolate and blown surmises,
1 noteMatching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous,
To say, my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
2 note
Where virtue is, these make more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt;
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago,
I'll see, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
And, on the proof, there is no more but this,
Away at once with love, or jealousie.
Iago.
I'm glad of this; for now I shall have reason
To shew the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit. Therefore, as I'm bound,
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife, observe her well with Cassio;
Wear your eye, thus: not jealous, nor secure;
I would not have your free and noble nature
-- 340 --
3 noteOut of self-bounty be abus'd; look to't.
I know our country disposition well;
In Venice they do let heav'n see the pranks,
They dare not shew their husbands; their best conscience
Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown.
Oth.
Dost thou say so?
Iago.
She did deceive her father, marrying you;
And when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks,
She lov'd them most.
Oth.
And so she did.
Iago.
Go to then;
She, that, so young, could give out such a Seeming
To seal her father's eyes up, close as oak—
He thought, 'twas witchcraft—but I'm much to blame:
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon,
For too much loving you.
Oth.
I'm bound to you for ever.
Iago.
I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits.
Oth.
Not a jot, not a jot.
Iago.
Trust me, I fear, it has:
I hope, you will consider, what is spoke
Comes from my love. But, I do see, you're mov'd—
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech
4 noteTo grosser issues, nor to larger reach,
Than to suspicion.
Oth.
I will not.
Iago.
Should you do so, my lord,
5 noteMy speech would fall into such vile Success,
Which my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend.
-- 341 --
My lord, I see, you're mov'd—
Oth.
No, not much mov'd—
I do not think, but Desdemona's honest.
Iago.
Long live she so! and long live you to think so!
Oth.
And yet, how nature erring from itself—
Iago.
Ay, there's the point;—as (to be bold with you)
Not to affect many proposed matches
Of her own clime, complexion and degree,
Whereto we see in all things Nature tends:
Foh! one may smell, in such, a will most rank,
Foul disproportions, thoughts unnatural.
But, pardon me, I do not in position
Distinctly speak of her; tho' I may fear,
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment,
May fall to match you with her country forms,
And, haply, so repent.
Oth.
Farewel, farewel;
If more thou dost perceive, let me know more:
Set on thy wife t'observe. Leave me, Iago.
Iago.
My lord, I take my leave.
[Going.
Oth.
Why did I marry?—
This honest creature, doubtless,
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.
Iago.
My lord, I would, I might entreat your Honour
To scan this thing no farther; leave it to time:
Altho' 'tis fit that Cassio have his Place,
For, sure, he fills it up with great ability;
Yet if you please to hold him off a while,
You shall by that perceive him, and his means;
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment
With any strong, or vehement importunity;
Much will be seen in That. In the mean time,
Let me be thought too busy in my fears,
(As worthy cause I have to fear, I am;)
And hold her free, I do beseech your Honour.
-- 342 --
Oth.
Fear not my government.
Iago.
I once more take my leave.
[Exit.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
