Oth.
You have seen nothing then?

Æmil.
Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Oth.
Yes, you have seen Cassio and she 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, 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 Closset-lock and Key of villanous Secrets;
And yet she'll kneel, and pray; I have 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 Æmil.

Des.
Upon my Knee, what doth your Speech import?
I understand a Fury in your Words.

Oth.
Why? What art thou?

Des.
Your Wife, my Lord; your true and loyal Wife.

Oth.
Come swear it; damn thy self, 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, Desdemon, away, away, away—

Des.
Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
Am I the Motive of these Tears, my Lord?
If happily 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,
Given to Captivity me and my utmost 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,
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd Cherubin,
I here look Grim as Hell.

Des.
I hope my noble Lord esteems me Honest.

Oth.
O ay, as Summer-Flies are in the Shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. Oh thou Weed!
Who art so lovely, fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the Sense asks at thee;
Would thou'dst never 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,
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, 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?—

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 sav'd.

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. You, Mistress, Enter Æmilia.
That have the Office opposite to Saint 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 answers have I none,
But what should go by Water. Prethee 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 smallest Opinion on my least misuse? Enter Jago, and Æmilia.

Jago.
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.

Jago.
What's the Matter, Lady?

Æmil.
Alas, Jago, 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, Jago?

Jago.
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.

Jago.
Why did he so?

Des.
I do not know; I am sure I am none such.

Jago.
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.

Jago.
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 will be hang'd else.

Jago.
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 Likelyhood?
The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous Knave,
Some base notorious Knave, some scurvy Fellow.
Oh Heav'ns, that such Companions thoud'st unfold,
And put in every honest Hand a Whip,
To lash the Rascal naked through the World,
Even from the East to th' West.

Jago.
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.

Jago.
You are a Fool; go to.

Des.
Alas, Jago,
What shall I do to win my Lord again?
Good Friend, go to him; for 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,
Either in Discourse of 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 cannot say Whore,
It do's abhor me now I speak the Word,

To do the Act, that might the Addition earn,
Not the World's Mass of Vanity could make me.

Jago.
I pray you be content; 'tis but his Humour;
The Business of the State do's him offence.

Des.
If 'twere no other.

Jago.
It is but so, I warrant.
Hark how these Instruments summon to supper; [Trumpets.
The Messenger of Venice stays the Meat;
Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well. [Exeunt Desdemona and Æmilia. Enter Rodorigo.
How now, Rodorigo?

Rod.
I do not find
That thou deal'st justly with me.

Jago.
What in the contrary?

Rod.

Every day thou doft'st me with some device, Jago, 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.

Jago.

Will you hear me, Rodorigo?

Rod.

I have heard too much; and your words and performances are no kin together.

Jago.

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 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 acquaintance, but I find none.

Jago.

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.

Jago.

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 your self, I will seek Satisfaction of you.

Jago.

You have said now.

Rod.

Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.

Jago.

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 yet I protest I have dealt most directly in thy Affair.

Rod.

It hath not appear'd.

Jago.

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?

Jago.

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.

Jago.

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?

Jago.

Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place; knocking out his Brains.

Rod.

And that you would have me to do.

Jago.

Ay, if you dare do your self a profit, and a right. He sups to night with a Harlotry; 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 your self 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,

Jago.

And you shall be satisfied.

Lod.

I do beseech you, Sir, trouble your self no further.

Oth.

Oh pardon; 'twill do me good to walk.

Lod.

Madam, good night; I humbly thank your Ladiship.

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't 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 Stubborness, his Cheeks, his Frowns,
(Prethee 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?

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 grow from my mind; I have much to do,
But to go hang my Head all at one side
And sing it like poor Barbara; prethee 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 nether Lip.

Des.

The poor Soul sat Singing, by a Sycamore Tree. [Singing.
Sing all a green Willow:
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. (Lay by these)
Willow, Willow. (Prithee high 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; O 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.
Would'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.

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.

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

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