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.

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