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.