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!

Æm.
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 have put this in your head,
Let heav'n requite it with the serpent's curse!
For if she be not honest, chast 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 thy self; lest, being like one
Of heav'n, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee.
Therefore be double-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 lost him too.

Oth.
Had it pleas'd heav'n
To try me with affliction, had he 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 have 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,(47) ^note


Patience, thou young and rose-lip'd cherubin;
Ay, there look grim as hell.

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

Oth.
Oh, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,
That quicken ev'n with blowing. Oh 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, what committed?
Committed?—oh, thou publick commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cynders burn up modesty,
Did but I speak thy deeds. What, 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.
If to preserve this vessel for my lord
From any other, foul, unlawful, Touch,
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

Oth.
What, not a whore?

Des.
No, as I shall be saved.

Oth.
Is't possible?

Des.
Oh, heav'n forgive us!

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 mony 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?

Des.
Faith, half asleep.

Æmil.
Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

Des.
With whom?

Æmil.
Why, with my lord, madam?

Des.
Who is thy lord?

Æmil.
He that is yours, sweet lady.

Des.
I have none; do not talk to me, Æmilia.
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none,
But what should go by water. Pray, to night
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember;
And call thy husband hither.

Æmil.
Here's a change indeed! [Exit.

Des.
'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet:
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick
The small'st opinion of my least misuse? 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 easie tasks;
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 hath 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 callet.

Iago.
Why did he so?

Des.
I do not know; 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 busie 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 is 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 likely-hood?
The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
Oh heav'n, that such companions thou'dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip,
To lash the rascal naked through the world,
Ev'n from the east to th' west!

Iago.
Speak within door.

Æmil.
Oh, fie upon them! Some such 'squire he was,
That turn'd your wit the seamy 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. I can't say, whore;
It do's abhor me, now I speak the word;
To do the act, that might th' addition earn,
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.

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

Des.
If 'twere no other,—

Iago.
It is but so, I warrant. [Trumpets.

Hark, how these instruments summon to supper!
The messenger of Venice stays the meat;
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 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 perswaded to put up in peace what already I have 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 naught but truth: I have wasted my self out of my means. The jewels you have had from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have corrupted a Votarist. You have told me, she hath receiv'd them, and return'd me expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquittance;(48) ^note

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 my self fob'd in it.

Iago.

Very well.

Rod.

I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make my self 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 lingred 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; and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his honourable fortune; if you will watch his going thence, (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one) you may take

him at your pleasure. I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between us. 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.

Lod.

I do beseech you, Sir, trouble yourself no further.

Oth.

Oh, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.

Lod.

Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.

Des.

Your Honour is most welcome.

Oth.

Will you walk, Sir? oh Desdemona!—

Des.

My lord.

Oth.

Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be return'd forthwith; dismiss your attendant there; look, it be done.

Des.
I will, my Lord.

Æmil.
How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

Des.
He says, he will return incontinent;
And hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bid me to dismiss you.

Æmil.
Dismiss me?

Des.
It was his bidding; therefore, good Æmilia,
Give me my nightly Wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.

Æmil.
I would, you had never seen him!

Des.
So would not I; my love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns,
(Pr'ythee, unpin me) have grace and favour in them.

Æmil.
I have laid those sheets, you bad me, on the bed.

Des.
All's one: good father! how foolish are our minds?
If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of these same sheets.

Æmil.
Come, come; you talk.

Des.
My mother had a maid call'd Barbara,
She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,
And did forsake her. She had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she dy'd singing it. That song to night
Will not go from my mind; I've much ado,
But to go hang my head all at one side,
And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, dispatch.

Æmil.
Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

Des.
No, unpin me here;
This Lodovico is a proper man.

Æmil.
A very handsom man.

Des.
He speaks well.

Æmil.

I know a lady in Venice would have walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his neither lip.

Des.

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore-tree,
  Sing all a green willow: [singing.
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
  Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
  Sing willow, &c.
Her salt tears fell from her, and softned the stones;
  Sing willow, &c.
Willow, willow, &c. (Pr'ythee, hye thee, he'll come anon)
  Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Let no body blame him, his scorn I approve.
Nay, that's not next—Hark, who is't that knocks?

Æmil.

It's the wind.

Des.

I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?
  Sing willow, &c.
If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.
So, get thee gone, good night; mine eyes do itch,
Doth that boad weeping?

Æmil.
'Tis neither here nor there.

Des.
I have heard it said so; oh these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think, tell me, Æmilia,
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?

Æmil.
There be some such, no question.

Des.
Woud'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

Æmil.
Why, would not you?

Des.
No, by this heav'nly light.

Æmil.
Nor I neither, by this heav'nly light:
I might do't as well i'th' dark.

Des.
Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

Æmil.
The world's a huge thing,
It is a great price, for a small vice.

Des.
In troth, I think, thou would'st not.

Æmil.

In troth, I think, I should; and undo't when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps; nor any petty exhibition. But for all the whole world; why, who would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

Des.
Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong
For the whole world.

Æmil.

Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world; and having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right(49) ^note.

Des.
I do not think, there is any such woman.

Æmil.
Yes, a dozen; and as many to th' vantage,
As would store the world they plaid for.
But, I do think, it is their husbands faults,
If wives do fall: say, that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint on us; or say, they strike us,
Or scant our former Having in despight;
Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,

Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know,
Their wives have sense like them; they see and smell,
And have their palats both for sweet and sower,
As husbands have. What is it that they do,
When they change us for others? is it sport?
I think, it is; and doth affection breed it?
I think, it doth: is't frailty, that thus errs?
It is so too. And have not we affections?
Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well; else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us to.

Des.
Good night, good night; heaven me such uses send,
Not to pick bad from bad; but by bad, mend! [Exeunt.

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