Des.
I pr'ythee do so. Something sure of state,
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice,
Made here demonstrable in Cyprus to him,
Hath pudled his clear spirit; and in such cases,
Mens natures wrangle with inferior things,
Tho' great ones are their object. 'Tis ev'n so.
For let our finger ake, and it endues
Our other healthful members with a sense
Of pain. Nay, we must think men are not Gods,
Nor of them look for such observance always,
As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Æmilia,
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,

Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness,
And he's indited falsely.

Æmil.
Pray heav'n it be
State-matter, as you think, and no conception
Nor jealous toy concerning you.

Des.
Alas-the-day, I never give him cause.

Æmil.
But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for a cause,
But jealous, for they're jealous. It's a monster
Begot upon it self, born on it self.

Des.
Heav'n keep that monster from Othello's mind!

Æmil.
Lady, amen.

Des.
I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout;
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek t' effect it to my uttermost.

Cas.
I humbly thank your ladyship. [Ex. Desdem. and Æmil.

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