Some wine, ho;

Cas.

Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

Iago.

Will you hear't again?

Cas.

No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place, that does those things. Well—Heaven's above all; and there be souls that must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

Iago.

It's true, good lieutenant.

Cas.

For mine own part, (no offence to the general, nor any man of quality) I hope to be saved.

Iago.

and so do I too, lieutenant.

Cas.

Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The lieutenant is to be saved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this? let's to our affairs. Forgive us our sins—Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my Ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk, now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Gent.

Excellent well.

Cas.

Why, very well then. You must not think then that I am drunk.

Manent Iago and Montano.

Iago.
You see this fellow that is gone before;
He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar,
And give direction. And do but see his vice;
I fear, the trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will shake this island.

Mont.
But is he often thus?

Iago.
'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep.

Mont.
It were well
The General were put in mind of it.
Perhaps, he sees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,
And looks not on his evils. Is not this true? Enter Rodorigo.

Iago.
How now, Rodorigo!
I pray you after the lieutenant, go. [Exit Rod.

Mont.
And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor
Should hazard such a place as his own second,
With one of an ingraft infirmity;
It were an honest action to say so,
Unto the Moor.

Iago.
Not I, for this fair island.
I do love Cassio well, and would do much
To cure him of this evil. [Within. Help, help!
Hark, what noise? Re-enter Cassio pursuing Rodorigo.

Cas.

You rogue, you rascal!

Mont.

What's the matter, lieutenant?

Cas.

A knave, teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.

Rod.

Beat me!—

Cas.

Dost thou prate, rogue?

Mont.

Nay, good lieutenant; [Staying him. I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

Cas.

Let me go, sir, or I'll knock you over the mazzard.

Mont.

Come, come, you're drunk.

Cas.

Drunk!

Iago.
Away, I say, go out and cry mutiny. [Exit Rod.
Nay, good lieutenant—Sir—Montano—
Help, masters! Here's a goodly watch, indeed—
Who's that? Who rings the bell—The town will rise. [Bell rings.
Fy! fy! lieutenant! hold:
You will be shamed for ever. Enter Othello and Attendants.

Oth.
Hold, for your lives.
Why, how now. Ho! From whence ariseth this?
Are we turn'd Turks? and to ourselves do that,
Which Heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
For christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl.
He that stirs next, to carve for his own rage,
Holds his soul light: he dies upon his motion. [Bell rings.
Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the isle
From her propriety. What is the matter?
Honest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.

Iago.
I do not know. Friends all, but now, even now
In quarter, and in terms, like bride and groom
Divesting them for bed; and then, but now—
(As if some planet had unwitted men)
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breasts,
In opposition bloody. I can't speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds,
And would in action glorious I had lost
Those legs, that brought me to a part of it.

Oth.
How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?

Cas.
I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak.

Oth.
Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil:
The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted; and your name is great,
In mouths of wisest censure. What's the matter,
That you unlace your reputation thus,
And spend your rich opinion, for the name
Of a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.

Mont.
Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger?
Your officer Iago can inform you,
While I spare speech, which something now offends me,
Of all that I do know; nor know I ought
By me that's said, or done, amiss, this night?
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice,
And to defend ourselves, it be a sin,
When violence assails us.

Oth.
Now, by Heav'n,* ^note



If I once stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me, to know
How this foul rout began. Who set it on;
And he that is approv'd in this offence,
Tho' he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
Shall lose me.—What, and in a town of war,
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear,
To manage private and domestic quarrel?
In night, and in the court of guard and safety?
'Tis monstrous! Say, Iago, who began't.

Mont.
If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office,
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth,
Thou art no soldier.

Iago.
Touch me not so near:* ^note
I'd rather have this tongue cut from my mouth,
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio.
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth,
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus 'tis, general;
Montano and myself being in speech,
There comes a fellow, crying out for help,
And Cassio following, with determin'd sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman
Steps in to Cassio, and intreats his pause;
Myself the crying fellow did pursue,
Lest, by his clamour (as it so fell out)
The town might fall in fright. He, swift of foot,
Out-ran my purpose: I return'd, the rather,
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords.
And Cassio high in oath; which, till to-night,
I ne'er might say before. When I came back,
(For this was brief) I found them close together,
At blow and thrust; even as again they were,
When you, yourself, did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report.
But men are men; the best sometimes forget.
Tho' Cassio did some little wrong to him,
As men in rage strike those that wish them best;
Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, receiv'd
From him that fled, some strange indignity,
Which patience could not pass.

Oth.
I know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,† ^note
But never more be officer of mine.—&verbar2; ^note

Enter Desdemona.
Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up:
I'll make thee an example.

Des.
What's the matter?

Oth.
All is well, sweeting, come to bed.
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.
Lead him off. [Montano is led off.
Look with care about the town,
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, Desdemona, 'tis the soldier's life,
To have his balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. [Exit. Manent Iago and Cassio.

Iago.

What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

Cas.

Past all surgery.

Iago.

Marry, heav'n forbid!

Cas.

Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation! Iago, my reputation!—

Iago.

As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound: there is more sense in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. You have lost no reputation, at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man—there are ways to recover the general again. Sue to him again, and he's yours.

Cas.

I will rather sue to be despised, than to deceive so good a commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Oh, thou invincible spirit of wine! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.

Iago.

What was he that you follow'd with the sword? What had he done to you?

Cas.

I know not.

Iago.

Is't possible?

Cas.

I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly: a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains!

Iago.

Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?

Cas.

It has pleased the devil, Drunkenness, to give place to the devil, Wrath; one unperfectness shews me another, to make me frankly despise myself.

Iago.

I could heartily wish this had not befallen: but since it is as it is, mend it, for your own good.

Cas.

I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me, I am a drunkard!—Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!—every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.

Iago.

Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well us'd: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think; you think I love you.

Cas.

I have well approv'd, it, sir. I drunk!

Iago.

You, or any man living, may be drunk, at some time, man. I tell you what you shall do: our general's wife is now the general; importune her help, to put you in your place again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more is requested.

Cas.

You advise me well

Iago.

I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest kindness.

Cas.

I think it freely: and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes, if they check me here.

Iago.

You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.

Cas.

Good-night, honest Iago.

Iago.
And what's he then, that says, I play a villain?
When this advice I give, is free and honest,
Likely to thinking, and, indeed, the course
To win the Moor again. For 'tis most easy
Th' inclining Desdemona to subdue,
In any honest suit. Am I then a villain
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
Directly to his good? 'Tis Hell's divinity;
When devils will their blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heav'nly shews,
As I do now. For while this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune,
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,
That she repeals him for her body's lust:
And by how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch;
And out of her own goodness make the net,
That shall enmesh them all. How now, Rodorigo! Enter Rodorigo.

Rod.

I follow here in the chace, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains; and so with

no money at all, and a little more wit, return again to Venice.

Iago.
How poor are they, that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft;
And wit depends on dilatory time.
Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio.
Retire thee; go where thou art billetted.
Away, I say; thou shalt know more, hereafter;
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rodorigo.
Two things are to be done;
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress:
I'll set her on:
Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart,
And bring him jump, when he may Cassio find
Soliciting his wife—Ay, that's the way;
Dull not device, by coldness and delay.* ^note [Exit. End of the Second Act. ACT III. Scene SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace. Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Æmilia† ^note

Desdemona.
Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do
All my abilities in thy behalf.

Æmil.
Good madam, do: I know it grieves my husband,
As if the cause were his.

Des.
Oh, that's an honest fellow; doubt not, Cassio,
But I will have my lord and you again
As friendly as you were.

Cas.
Most bounteous madam,
Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
He's never any thing but your true servant.

Des.
I know't, I thank you; you do love my lord,
You've known him long; and, be you well assured,
He shall in strangeness stand no farther off,
Than in a politic distance.

Cas.
Ay, but, lady,
That policy may either last so long,
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,
That I being absent, and my place supply'd,
My general will forget my love and service.

Des.
Do not doubt that; before Æmilia here,
I give thee warrant of thy place.
Therefore be merry, Cassio;
For thy solicitor shall rather die,
Than give thy cause away. Enter Othello and Iago, at a Distance

Æmil.
Madam, here comes my lord.

Cas.
Madam, I'll take my leave.

Des.
Why, stay and hear me speak.

Cas.
Madam, not now: I'm very ill at ease,
Unfit for mine own purposes.

Des.
Well, do your discretion. [Exit Cassio.

Iago.
Hah! I like not that—

Oth.
What dost thou say?

Iago.
Hah! I like not that—

Oth.
What dost thou say?

Iago.
Nothing, my lord: or if—I know not what.

Oth.
Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?

Iago.
Cassio, my lord?—no, sure, I cannot think it,
That he would steal away so guilty-like,
Seeing you coming.

Oth.
I believe 'twas he.

Des.
How now, my lord!
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man that languishes in your displeasure.

Oth.
Who is't you mean?

Des.
Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord,
If I have any grace or power to move you,
His present reconciliation take;
For if he be not one that truly loves you,
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning,
I have no judgment in an honest face.
I pr'ythee, call him back.

Oth.
Went he hence, now?

Des.
In sooth, so humbled,
That he hath left part of his grief with me,
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

Oth.
Not now, sweet Desdemona: some other time.

Des.
But shall't be shortly?

Oth.
The sooner, sweet, for you.

Des.
Shall't be to-night, at supper?

Oth.
Not to-night.

Des.
To-morrow dinner, then?

Oth.
I shall not dine at home:
I meet the captain at the citadel.

Des.
Why then to-morrow night, or Tuesday morn,
Or Tuesday noon, or night, or Wednesday morn,
I pr'ythee, name the time; but let it not
Exceed three days; in faith, he's penitent:
When shall he come?
Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul
What you would ask me, that I would deny.
What! Michael Cassio!
That came a wooing with you, and many a time,
When I have spoke of you displeasingly,
Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do
To bring him in! trust me, I could do much—

Oth.
Pr'ythee, no more; let him come when he will,
I will deny thee nothing.
Whereon I do beseech you grant me this,
To leave me but a little to myself.

Des.
Shall I deny you? no: farewel, my lord.

Oth.
Farewel, my Desdemona, I'll come strait.

Des.
Æmilia, go; be as your fancies teach you:
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [Exeunt.

Manent Othello and Iago.

Oth.
Excellent wretch!* ^note—Perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee; and when I love thee not,
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 ought of that?
Is he not honest?

Iago.
Honest, my lord!

Oth.
Honest! ay, honest.

Iago.
My lord, for ought I know.

Oth.
What dost 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'st 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 didst contract and purse thy brow together,
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 dost,

And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty,
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:
For such things, in a false disloyal knave,
Are tricks of custom: but, in a man that's just,
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,
Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none!

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;
Utter my thoughts!—Why, say they're vile and false;
As where's that palace whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not?* ^note

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,
Though I perchance am vicious in my guess—† ^note
(As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
To spy into abuse; and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not;) I intreat you then,
From one that so improbably conceits,
Your wisdom would not build yourself 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.
Who steals my purse, steals trash: 'tis something, nothing;
Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.* ^note

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 jealousy;
It is a green-ey'd monster, which doth make
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 as poor as winter,
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
Good heav'n the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!

Oth.
Why? why is this?
Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon,
With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt,
Is once to be resolv'd.
'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;
Where virtue is, these are most 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 jealousy.* ^note

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 you free and noble nature
Out of self-bounty be abus'd; look to't.
I know our country's 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 has 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
To grosser issues, nor to larger reach,
Than to suspicion.

Oth.
I will not.

Iago.
Should you do so, my lord,
My speech would fall into such vile success,
Which my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend.
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 intreat 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.* ^note

Oth.
Fear not my government.

Iago.
I once more take my leave. [Exit Iago. Manet Othello.

Oth.
This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit
Of human dealings. If I prove her haggard,‡ ^note
Tho' that her jesses &verbar2; ^note were my dear heart-strings,
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind,
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I'm 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 loath her. Oh, the curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites. I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love,
For other's use. Desdemona comes! Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.
If she be false, oh, then Heav'n mocks itself.
I'll not believe't.† ^note

Des.
How, now, my dear Othello!
Your dinner, and the generous islanders,
By you invited, do attend your presence.

Oth.
I am to blame.

Des.
Why do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well?

Oth.
I have a pain upon my forehead, here.

Des.
Why, that's with watching, 'twill away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

Oth.
Your handkerchief is too little; [She drops her handkerchief.
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

Des.
I am very sorry that you are not well. [Exeunt. Manet Æmilia.

Æmil.
I am glad I have found this handkerchief here:
This was her first remembrance of the Moor:
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it. I'll have the work ta'en out,
And giv't Iago. What he'll do with it,
Heav'n knows, not I,
I nothing, but to please his fantasy. Enter Iago.

Iago.
How now, what do you do here, alone?

Æmil.
Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

Iago.
You have a thing for me!
It is a common thing—

Æmil.
What?

Iago.
To have a foolish wife.

Æmil.
Oh, is that all! What will you give me now,
For that same handkerchief?* ^note

Iago.
What handkerchief?

Æmil.
What handkerchief!
Why that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That, which so often you did bid me steal.

Iago.
Hast stolen it from her?

Æmil.
No, but she let it drop, by negligence;
And, to th' advantage, I being here, took't up.
Look, here it is.

Iago.
A good wench, give it to me.

Æmil.
What will you do with't, you have been so earnest
To have me rilch it?

Iago.
Why, what is that to you! [Snatching it.

Æmil.
If't be not for some purpose of import,
Give't me again. Poor lady! she'll run mad,
When she shall miss it.

Iago.
Be not you know on't:
I have use for it. Leave me—Go— [Exit Æmil.
I will in Cassio's lodging lose this handkerchief,
And let him find it. Trifles light as air,
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong,
As proofs of holy writ. This may do something,
The Moor already changes with my poisons. Enter Othello.
Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep,
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.

Oth.
Ha! false to me!

Iago.
Why, how now, general? No more of that.

Oth.
Avaunt! be gone! thou'st set me on the rack:
I swear 'tis better to be much abus'd,
Than but to know a little.

Iago.
How, my lord?

Oth.
What sense had I, in her stol'n hours of lust?
I saw't not, though it not, it harm'd not me;
I slept the next night well; was free and merry;

I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n,
Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.

Iago.
I am sorry to hear this.

Oth.
I had been happy, if the general camp,
(Pioneers and all) had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. Oh now, for ever
Farewel the tranquil mind! Farewel content!
Farewel the plumed troops, and the big war,
That make ambition virtue! Oh, farewel!
Farewel the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, oh, you mortal engines, whose rude throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewel!* ^note Othello's occupation's gone!

Iago.
Is't possible, my lord?

Oth.
Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore?
Be sure of it: give me the ocular proof, [Catching hold of him.
Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul,
Thou hadst better have been born a dog, a dog, Iago,
Than answer my wak'd wrath.

Iago.
Is't come to this?

Oth.
Make me to see't; or, at least, so prove it,
That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop,
To hang a doubt on; or, woe upon thy life!

Iago.
My noble lord—

Oth.
If thou dost slander her, and torture me,
Never pray more; abandon all remorse;
On horror's head, horrors accumulate;
Do deeds to make Heav'n weep, all earth amaz'd;
For nothing can'st thou to damnation add,
Greater than that.

Iago.
Oh, grace! oh Heav'n, defend me!
Are you a man? Have you a soul? or sense?
Heav'n be w'you; take mine office. O wretched fool,
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!
Oh, monstrous world! Take note, take note, oh world,
To be direct and honest, is not safe.
I thank you for this profit, and, from hence,
I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.

Oth.
Nay, stay—Thou shoud'st be honest—

Iago.
I should be wise, for honesty's a fool,
And loses what it works for.

Oth.
By the world,
I think, my wife is honest; and think, she is not;
I think, that thou art just; and think, thou art not;
I'll have some proof. Her name, that was a fresh
As Diana's visage, is now begrim'd and black,
As my own face. If there be cords or knives,
Poison or fire, or suffocating steams,
I'll not endure't—Would I were satisfied!* ^note

Iago.
I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion;
I do repent me, that I put it to you.
You would be satisfied!

Oth.
Would! nay, and will.

Iago.
And may; but how? How satisfied, my lord?
Would you be supervisor, grosly gape on?
Behold her—?

Oth.
Death and damnation! Oh!

Iago.
It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
To bring 'em to that prospect. Damn them, then,
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster,
More than their own. What then? how then?
What shall I say? where's satisfaction?
It is impossible you should see this,

Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkies,* ^note


As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross,
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
If imputation, and strong circumstances,
Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you satisfaction, you might hav't.

Oth.
Give me a living reason she's disloyal.

Iago.
I do not like the office;
But since I'm enter'd in this cause so far,
Prick't to't by foolish honesty and love,
I will go on. I lay with Cassio, lately,
And, being troubled with a raging tooth,
I could not sleep,—
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,—“Oh sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard,
As if he pluckt up kisses by the roots;
And grew upon my lips; and then
Cry, “Cursed fate! that gave thee to the Moor.”

Oth.
Oh, monstrous! monstrous!

Iago.
Nay, this was but his dream.

Oth.
But this denoted a foregone conclusion:
'Tis a shrewd doubt, tho' it be but a dream.

Iago.
And this may help to thicken other proofs,
That do demonstrate thinly.

Oth.
I'll tear her all to pieces.

Iago.
Nay, but be wise; yet we see nothing done;
She may be honest, yet—Tell me but this,
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief,
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand?

Oth.
I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.

Iago.
I know not that; but such a handkerchief,

(I'm sure, it was your wife's) did I, to-day,
See Cassio wipe his beard with.

Oth.
If it be that—

Iago.
If it be that, or any, that was hers,
It speaks against her, with the other proofs.

Oth.
Oh, that the slave had forty thousand lives!
One is too poor, too weak, for my revenge.
Now do I see 'tis true—Look here, Iago,
All my fond love thus do I blow to Heav'n:
'Tis gone.—
Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell!
Yield up, oh love, thy crown and hearted throne,
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
For 'tis of aspicks tongues.

Iago.
Yet be content.

Oth.
Oh blood, blood, blood—

Iago.
Patience, I say; your mind, perhaps, may change.

Oth.
Never, Iago. Like the Pontick sea,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on,
To the Propontick, and the Hellespont;
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
'Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up—Now, by you marble Heavn'n,
In the due rev'rence of a sacred vow, [He kneels.
I here engage my words—

Iago.
Do not rise yet.* ^note [Iago kneels.
Witness, ye ever-burning lights above!
Ye elements that clepe us round about!
Witness, that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong'd Othello's service. Let him command,
And not to obey, shall be in me remorse,
What bloody business ever.

Oth.
I greet thy love,
Not with vain thanks, but, with acceptance bounteous,

And will upon the instant put thee to't.
Within these three days let me hear thee say,
That Cassio's not alive.

Iago.
My friend is dead;
Tis done, at your request. But let her live.

Oth.
Damn her, lewd minx! oh damn her, damn her!
Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw,
To furnish me with some swift means of death
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant—

Iago.
I am your own, for ever.* ^note [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, an Apartment in the same Castle. Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.

Des.
Where should I lose that handkerchief, Æmilia?

Æmil.
I know not, madam.

Des.
Believe me, but my noble Moor
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness,
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

Æmil.
Is he not jealous?

Des.
Who, he! I think the sun where he was born,
Drew all such humours from him.

Æmil.
Look, where he comes.

Des.
I will not leave him now, till Cassio be
Call'd to him. How is it with you, my lord? [Æmilia retires. Enter Othello.

Oth.
Well, my good lady. Oh hardness to dissemble!
How do you, Desdemona?

Des.
Well, my lord.

Oth.
Give me your hand; this hand is moist, my lady.

Des.
It yet hath felt no age, nor known no sorrow.

Oth.
This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart:
Hot, hot, and moist—this hand of yours requires
A sequester from liberty; fasting and prayer,
Much castigation, exercise devout;
For here's a young and sweating devil here,
That commonly rebels; 'tis a good hand,
A very frank one.

Des.
You may, indeed, say so:
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

Oth.
A liberal hand. The hands of old gave hearts;
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

Des.
I cannot speak of this; come, now your promise.

Oth.
What promise, chuck?

Des.
I've sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.

Oth.
I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me:
Lend me thy handkerchief.

Des.
Here, my lord.

Oth.
That which I gave you.

Des.
I have it not about me.

Oth.
Not!—

Des.
No, indeed, my lord.

Oth.
That's a fault. That handkerchief
Did an Ægyptian 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, subdue my father
Intirely 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 hunt
After new fancies. She dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wiv'd,
To give it her. I did so; and take heed on't;
Make it a darling, like your precious eye;
To lose't, or giv't away, were such perdition,
As nothing else could match.

Des.
Is't possible?

Oth.
'Tis true; there's magick in the web of it;
A Sibyl that had numbered in the world
Of the sun's course two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work:

The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk;
And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful
Conserv'd of maidens hearts.* ^note

Des.
Indeed! is't true?

Oth.
Most veritable, therefore look to't well.

Des.
Then would to heav'n that I had never seen't!

Oth.
Ha! wherefore?

Des.
Why do you speak so startingly and rash?

Oth.
Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is't out o' th' way?

Des.
Bless us!

Oth.
Say you!

Des.
It is not lost; but what, and if it were?

Oth.
Ha!

Des.
I say, it is not lost.

Oth.
Fetch it, let me see't.

Des.
Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now:
This is a trick to put me from my suit.
Pray you, let Cassio be receiv'd again.

Oth.
Fetch me the handkerchief—my mind misgives—

Des.
Come, you'll ne'er meet a more sufficient man.

Oth.
The handkerchief—

Des.
A man, that all his time
Hath founded his good fortunes on your love;
Shar'd dangers with you.

Oth.
The handkerchief—

Des.
In sooth you are to blame.

Oth.
Away!— [Exit Othello. Manent Desdemona and Æmilia.

Æmil.
Is not this man jealous?

Des.
I ne'er saw this before.
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I'm most unhappy in the loss of it.

Æmil.
'Tis not a year or two shews us a man:
Look you! Cassio, and my husband. Enter Iago and Cassio.

Iago.
There is no other way, 'tis she must do't;
And lo, the happiness! go and importune her.

Des.
How now, good Cassio, what's the news with you?

Cas.
Madam, my former suit.

Des.
Alas! good Cassio,
My advocation is not now in tune;
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,
Were he in favour as in humour alter'd.

Iago.
Is my lord angry?

Æmil.
He went hence but now;
And, certainly, in strange unquietness.

Iago.
Can he be angry!
Something of moment then; I'll go meet him:

Des.
I pr'ythee do so.

Iago.
There's matter in't, indeed, if he be angry. [Exit. Manent Desdemona, Æmilia, and Cassio.

Des.
Something, sure, of state,
From Venice.

Æmil.
Pray heav'n, it be
State matter as you think; and no conception,
Nor jealous toy, concerning you.

Des.
Alas, the day, I never gave him cause.

Æmil.
But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for a cause;
But jealous, for they're jealous. It's a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Des.
Heav'n keep that monster from Othello's mind!

Æmil.
Lady, amen.

Des.
I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout;
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek t'effect it to my uttermost.

Cas.
I humbly thank you ladyship.* ^note [Ex. Des. and Æmil. at one door, Cas. at the other.† ^note End of the Third Act. ACT IV. Scene SCENE, a Court before the Palace, Enter Othello and Iago.

Iago.
Will you think so?&verbar2; ^note

Oth.
Think so, Iago!

Iago.
What, to kiss in private?

Oth.
An unauthoriz'd kiss?

Iago.
If they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip:
But if I give my wife a handkerchief—

Oth.
What then?

Iago.
Why then, 'tis hers, my lord; and, being hers,
She may, I think, bestow't on any man.

Oth.
She is protectress of her honour, too:
May she give that?

Iago.
Her honour is an essence that's not seen,
They have it very oft, that have it not:
But for the handkerchief—

Oth.
By heav'n, I would most gladly have forgot it:
Thou said'st,—oh, it comes o'er my memory,
As doth the raven o'er th' infected house,
Boding to ill,—he had my handkerchief.

Iago.
What if I said, I'd seen him do you wrong!
Or heard him say, (as knaves must blab.)

Oth.
Hath he said any thing?

Iago.
He hath, my lord; but be you well assur'd,
No more than he'll unswear.

Oth.
What hath he said?

Iago.
Why, that he did—I know not what he did.

Oth.
What? what?

Iago.
Lye—

Oth.
With her?

Iago.
With her; on her—what you will—

Oth.
Lie with her!
I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!

Iago.

Oh, 'tis foul in her.

Oth.
What, with mine officer!

Iago.

That's fouler.

Oth.

Get me some poison, Iago, this night;* ^note I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and her beauty unprovide my mind again—this night, Iago.

Iago.
Do it not with poison; strangle her in her bed;
Even in the bed she hath contaminated.

Oth.
Good, good:
The justice of it pleases; very good.

Iago.
And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker:
You shall hear more, by midnight.

Oth.
Excellent good:— [A trumpet within.
What trumpet is that same?

Iago.
Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico
Come from the duke: and see, your wife is with him.

Enter Lodovico and Desdemona.

Lod.
Save you, worthy general.

Oth.
With all my heart, sir.

Lod.
The duke and senators of Venice greet you. [Gives him a letter.

Oth.
I kiss the instruments of their pleasures.

Des.
And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?

Iago.
I am very glad to see you, signior.
Welcome to Cyprus.

Lod.
I thank you. How does lieutenant Cassio?

Iago.
Lives, sir.

Des.
There's fallen between him and my lord
An unkind breach: but you shall make all well.

Oth.
Are you sure of that?

Des.
My lord!—

Oth.
This fail you not to do, as you will— [Reads.

Lod.
He did not call; he's busy in the paper.
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio?

Des.
A most unhappy one; I would do much
T' attone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.

Oth.
Fire and brimstone!

Des.
My lord!

Oth.
Are you wise?

Des.
What, is he angry?

Lod.
May be the letter mov'd him.
For, as I think, they do command him home,
Deputing Cassio in his government.

Des.
Trust me, I'm glad on't.

Oth.
Indeed!

Des.
My lord!

Oth.
I'm glad to see you mad.

Des.
Why, sweet Othello?

Oth.
Devil!— [Striking her.

Des.
I have not deserved this.

Lod.
My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice,
Tho' I should swear I saw't. 'Tis very much;
Make her amends—she weeps.

Oth.
Oh devil, devil!
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,

Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile:
Out of my sight—

Des.
I will not stay t'offend you. [Going.

Lod.
Truly, an obedient lady.
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Oth.
Mistress—

Des.
My lord.

Oth.
What would you with her, sir.

Lod.
Who, I, my lord?

Oth.
Ay, you did wish, that I would make her turn:
Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on;
And turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep;
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient:
Very obedient—proceed you in your tears—
Concerning this, sir,—oh, well painted passion!—
I am commanded home—get you away,
I'll send for you, anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate,
And will return to Venice—Hence, avaunt!—
Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-night,
I do entreat that we may sup together.
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus—
Goats and monkies! [Exeunt Othello and Desdemona, severally. Manent Lodovico and Iago.

Lod.
Is this the noble Moor, whom our full senate
Call all-in-all sufficient? What, strike his wife!

Iago.
'Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew
That stroke would prove the worst.

Lod.
Is it his use?
Or did the letters work upon his blood,
And new create this fault?

Iago.
Alas, alas!
It is not honesty in me to speak
What I have seen and known.
Do but go after,
And mark how he continues.

Lod.
I'm sorry that I was deceiv'd in him. [Exeunt.

Scene SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace. Enter Othello and Æmilia.

Oth.
You have seen nothing, then!

Æmil.
Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Oth.
Yes, you have seen Cassio and her together.

Æmil.
But then I saw no harm; and then I heard
Each syllable that breath made up between them.

Oth.
What, did they never whisper?

Æmil.
Never, my lord.

Oth.
Nor send you out o'th' way?

Æmil.
Never.

Oth.
To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

Æmil.
Never, my lord.

Oth.
That's strange!

Æmil.
I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch hath put this in your head,
Let heav'n requite it with the serpent's curse!
For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy; the purest of their wives,
Is foul as slander.

Oth.
Bid her come hither—go. [Exit Æmilia.
She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
A closet-lock and key of villanous secrets;
And yet she'll kneel and pray: I've seen her do't. Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.

Des.
My lord, what is your will?

Oth.
Pray you, chuck, come hither.

Des.
What is your pleasure?

Oth.
Let me see your eyes; look in my face.

Des.
What horrible fancy's this?

Oth.
Some of your function, mistress.
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door;
Cough, or cry hem, if any body come.
Your mystery, your mystery—nay, dispatch. [Exit Æmilia.

Des.
Upon my knee, what doth your speech import?
I understand a fury in your words,
But not your words.

Oth.
Why, what art thou?

Des.
Your wife, my lord! your true and loyal wife.

Oth.
Come, swear it; damn thyself; lest, being like one
Of heav'n, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee.
Therefore be doubly damn'd: swear, thou art honest.

Des.
Heav'n doth truly know it.

Oth.
Heav'n truly knows,
That thou art false as hell.

Des.
To whom, my lord?
With whom? How am I false?

Oth.
Ah, Desdemona! away, away, away—

Des.
Alas, the heavy day! why do you weep?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
If, haply, you my father do suspect
An instrument of this your calling back,
Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him,
Why, I have have lost him too.

Oth.
Had it pleas'd heav'n* ^note
To try me with affliction, had it rain'd
All kind of sores and shames on my bare head,
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips,
Giv'n to captivity me and my hopes;
I should have found in some place of my soul,
A drop of patience. But, alas, to make me
A fixed figure for the hand of scorn
To point his slow and moving finger at—
Yet could I bear that too, well, very well.
But there, where I had garner'd up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence;
Or keep it, as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in. Turn thy complexion there,

Patience, thou young and rose-lip'd cherubim;
Ay, there, look grim as hell.* ^note

Des.
I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest.

Oth.
Oh, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed!
Who art so lovely, fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the sense akes at thee—
'Would thou had'st ne'er been born!

Des.
Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

Oth.
Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
Made to write whore upon? What committed?
—Oh, thou public commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but speak thy deeds.—What committed!
Heav'n stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear't. What committed!—Impudent strumpet!

Des.
By Heav'n, you do me wrong.

Oth.
Are not you a strumpet!

Des.
No, as I am a christian.

Oth.
What, not a whore!

Des.
No, as I shall be saved.

Oth.
I cry you mercy, then.
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. Enter Æmilia.
You, mistress,
That have the office opposite to St. Peter,
And keep the gate of hell. You! you! ay, you!
We have done our course, there's money for your pains;
I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. [Exit.

Æmil.
Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?
Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

Des.
With whom, Æmilia?

Æmil.
Why, with my lord, madam.

Des.
Who's thy lord?

Æmil.
He that is yours, sweet lady.

Des.
I have none. Do not talk to me, Æmilia.
Go, call thy husband hither.

Æmil.
Here's a change, indeed! [Exit.

Des.
'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. Enter Iago and Æmilia.

Iago.
What is your pleasure, madam? how is't with you?

Des.
I cannot tell. Those that do teach your babes,
Do it with gentle means, and easy talks;
He might have chid me so; for in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.

Iago.
What's the matter, lady?

Æmil.
Alas, Iago, my lord has so bewhor'd her,
Thrown such despight and heavy terms upon her,
That true hearts cannot bear it.

Des.
Am I that name, Iago?

Iago.
What name, fair lady?

Des.
Such as, she said, my lord did say I was.

Æmil.
He call'd her whore; a beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.* ^note

Iago.
Why did he so?

Des.
I know not; I'm sure I am none such.

Iago.
Do not weep, do not weep. Alas, the day!

Æmil.
Hath she forsook so many noble matches?
Her father, and her country, and her friends,
To be call'd whore? Would it not make one weep?

Des.
It is my wretched fortune.

Iago.
Beshrew him for't! How comes this trick upon him?

Des.
Nay, Heav'n doth know.

Æmil.
I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Some busy and insinuating rogue,
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
Has not devis'd this slander: I'll be hang'd, else.

Iago.
Fie, there's no such man; it is impossible.

Des.
If any such there be, Heav'n pardon him!

Æmil.
A halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her whore? Who keeps her company?
What place? what time? what form? what likelihood?
The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
Oh Heav'n, that such companion thou'dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip,
To lash the rascal naked thro' the world.

Iago.
Speak within door.

Æmil.
Oh, fie upon him! Some such 'squire he was,
That turn'd your wit the family side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

Iago.
You are a fool. Go to.

Des.
Alas, Iago,
What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him; by this light of Heav'n,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel; [Kneeling.
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Or in discourse, or thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them on any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will, though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love.

Iago.
I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour;
The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.

Des.
If 'twere no other—

Iago.
It is but so, I warrant.
Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well. [Exeunt Desdemona and Æmilia. Enter Rodorigo to Iago.
How now, Rodorigo?

Rod.
I do not find that thou deal'st justly with me.

Iago.

What in the contrary?

Rod.

Every day thou dost'st* ^note me with some device, Iago; and rather, as it seems to me now, keep'st from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer endure it. Nor am I yet persuaded to put up in peace, what already I have so foolishly suffer'd.

Iago.

Will you hear me, Rodorigo?

Rod.

Faith, I have heard too much; and your words and performances are no kin together.

Iago.

You charge me most unjustly.

Rod.

With nought but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels you have had from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would have half corrupted a votarist. You have told me she hath receiv'd them, and return'd me expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquittance; but I find none.

Iago.

Well, go to. Very well.

Rod.

Very well; go to. I cannot go to, man, nor 'tis not very well; nay, I think, it is scurvy, and begin to find myself fobb'd in it.

Iago.

Very well.

Rod.

I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona: If she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my unlawful solicitation: if not, assure yourself, I will seek satisfaction of you.

Iago.

You have said, now—

Rod.

Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.

Iago.

Why now, I see there's mettle in thee; and even from this instant, do I build on thee a better opinion, than ever before. Give me thy hand, Rodorigo; thou hast taken against me a most just exception; but, I protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.

Rod.

It hath not appear'd.

Iago.

I grant, indeed, it hath not appear'd; and your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But, Rodorigo, if thou hast that in thee, indeed, which I have greater reason to believe now than ever, (I mean,

purpose, courage, and valour) this night shew it. If thou the next night following, enjoy not, Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery, and devise engines for my life.

Rod.

Well, What is it? is it within reason and compass?

Iago.

Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place.

Rod.

Is that true? Why, then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.

Iago.

Oh, no; he goes into Mauritania, and taketh away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident; wherein, none can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio.

Rod.

How do you mean removing him?

Iago.

Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place; knocking out his brains.

Rod.

And that you would have me to do?

Iago.

Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit, and a right. He sups to-night with a harlot; if you will watch his going thence, you may take him at your pleasure: I will be near, to second your attempt. Come, stand not amaz'd at it, but go along with me! I will shew you such a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time; and the night grows to waste. About it.

Rod.

I will hear further reason for this.

Iago.

And you shall be satisfied.