Oth. Make me to see't; or, (at the least,) so prove it, That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life! Iago. My noble lord,

Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Never pray more: abandon all remorse;

On horror's head horrors accumulate;

Do deeds to make Heaven weep, all earth amazed; For nothing canst thou to damnation add

Greater than that.

Iago. O grace! O Heaven defend me!

Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense? Heaven be wi' you; take mine office.-O wretched fool,

That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!—

O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,
To be direct and honest, is not safe.-

I thank you for this profit; and, from hence,
I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence.

[Goin Oth. Nay, stay:-Thou should'st be honest. Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool, And loses that it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife be honest, and think she's not:
I think that thou art just, and think thouʼrt not;
I'll have some proof: Her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrimed, and black
As mine own face.-

'Would I were satisfy'd!

Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion; I do repent me, that I put it to you.

You would be satisfy'd?

Oth. Would? nay, I will.

Iago. And may: But, how? how satisfy'd, my lord Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? Behold her

Oth. Death and damnation! O!

Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,

To bring them to that prospect: Damn them then,
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster,
More than their own! What then? how then?
What shall I say? Where's satisfaction?
It is impossible you should see this,

Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
If imputation, and strong circumstances,-
Which lead directly to the door of truth,-
Will give you satisfaction, you may have it.
Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal.
Iago. I do not like the office:

But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,-
Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love,-
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately;
And being troubled with a raging tooth,
I could not sleep.

There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs;
One of this kind is Cassio:

In sleep I heard him say," Sweet Desdemona,
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves!"

And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand; Cry,-O, sweet creature!" and then kiss me hard, As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots,

That grew upon my lips:

And then

Cry" Cursed fate, that gave thee to the Moor!" Oth. O monstrous! monstrous!

Iago. Nay, this was but his dream.

Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion. Iago. 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream:

And this may help to thicken other proofs,

That do demonstrate thinly.

Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces

Iago. Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done: She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief, Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand? Oth. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. Iago. I know not that: but such a handkerchief (I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day See Cassio wipe his beard with.

Oth. If't be that

Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers,
It speaks against her with the other proofs.
Oth. Oh, that the slave had forty thousand lives ;
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge!-
Now do I see 'tis time,-Look here, Iago:
All my fond love thus do I blow to Heaven:
'Tis gone.

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!-
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne,
To tyrannous hate!-Swell, bosom, with thy fraught;
For 'tis of aspics' tongues!

Iago. Pray, be content.

Oth. O, blood, Iago, blood!

Iago. Patience, I say; your mind, perhaps, may change.

Oth. Never, Iago

By yond' marble heaven,

In the due reverence of a sacred vow,

I hére engage my words.

Iago. Do not rise yet.

[IAGO kneels.

Witness, you ever-burning lights above,-
You elements, that clip us round about,
Witness, that here lago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hand, heart,

To wrong'd Othello's service!-Let him command,
And to obey shall be in me remorse,

What bloody work soe'er.

Oth. I greet thy love,

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,

And will upon the instant put thee to't:
Within these three days, let me hear thee say,
That Cassio's not alive.

Iago. My friend is dead;

'Tis done at your request: But let her live.

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx!-O, damn her!Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil.-Now art thou my lieutenant. Iago. I am your own for ever.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Cyprus

Another Apartment in the Castle.

DESDEMONA and EMILIA, discovered.

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?

Emil. I know not, madam.

Des. Believe me,

And, but my noble Moor

Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness

As jealous creatures are, it were enough

To put him to ill thinking.

Emil. Is he not jealous?

Des. Who, he? I think the sun, where he was born,

Drew all such humours from him.

Emil. Look where he comes.

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio be

Call'd to him.

Enter OTHELLO.

How is it with you, my lord?

Oth. Well, my good lady:-[Aside.] O, hardness to dissemble !

How do you, Desdemona ?

Des. Well, my good lord.

Oth. Give me your hand-This hand is moist, my lady.

Des. It yet hath felt no age, nor known no sorrow.
Oth. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart,—
Hot, hot, and moist:-This hand of yours requires
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,
Much castigation, exercise devout;

For here's a young and sweating devil here,
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.

Des. You may, indeed, say so:

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

hearts:

Oth. A liberal hand: the hands of old gave But our new heraldry is-hands, not hearts. Des. I cannot speak of this.-Come now, your promise.

Oth. What promise, chuck?

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with

you.

Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me; Lend me thy handkerchief.

Des. Here, my lord.

Oth. That which I gave you.

Des. I have it not about me.

Oth. Not?

Des. No, indeed, my lord.

Oth. That is a fault: That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give ;