Bian.
'Save you, friend Cassio.

Cas.
What makes you from home?
How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
Indeed, sweet Love, I was coming to your house.

Bian.
And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
What? keep a week away? seven days and nights?

Eightscore eight hours? and lovers' absent hours,
More tedious that the dial, eightscore times?
Oh weary reck'ning!

Cas.
Pardon me, Bianca:
I have this while with leaden thoughts been prest;
But I shall in a more convenient time
Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, [Giving her Desdemona's Handkerchief.
Take me this work out.

Bian.
Oh Cassio, whence came this?
This is some token from a newer friend:
Of thy felt absence now I feel a cause:
Is't come to this? well, well.

Cas.
Go to, woman:
Throw your vile guesses in the Devil's teeth,
From whence you have them. You are jealous now,
That this is from some mistress, some remembrance?
No, in good troth, Bianca.

Bian.
Why, whose is it?

Cas.
I know not neither; I found it in my chamber;
I like the work well; ere it be demanded,
As like enough it will, I'd have it copied:
Take it, and do't, and leave me for this time.

Bian.
Leave you? wherefore?

Cas.
I do attend here on the General,
And think it no addition, nor my wish,
To have him see me woman'd.

Bian.
Why, I pray you?

Cas.
Not that I love you not.

Bian.
But that you do not love me;
I pray you, bring me on the way a little;
And say, if I shall see you soon at night?

Cas.
'Tis but a little way that I can bring you,
For I attend here. But I'll see you soon.

Bian.
'Tis very good; I must be circumstanc'd. [Exe.

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