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.

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