Jago.
That Cassio loves her, I do well believe:
That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit.
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,
And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband. Now I love her too,
Not out of absolute lust, (though peradventure
I stand accountant for as great a sin,)
But partly led to diet my revenge,
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leapt into my seat. The thought whereof
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;
And nothing can, or shall content my soul
'Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife:
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
At least into a jealousie so strong,
That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trace
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on;
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the ^{e note}right garb,
(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too,)
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an ass,
And practising upon his peace and quiet,

Even to madness. 'Tis here—but yet confus'd,
Knavery's plain face is never seen, 'till us'd. [Exit.

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