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Let Heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
For if she be not honest, chaste, 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.

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 I understand a fury in your words, [import But not your words. Oth. Why? what art thou?

[wife : Des. Your wife, my lord; your true and loyal Oth. Come, swear it; damn thyself; lest, being

- like one

Of Heaven, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee.

(honest. Therefore be double-damned ; swear thou art

Des. Heaven doth truly know it.

Oth. Heaven 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 pleased Heaven
To try me with affliction, had he rained
All kind of sores and shames of my bare head,
Steeped me in poverty (71) to the very lips,
Given 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

(71) Steep'd me in poverty, and beggar in his drink. Othello's prototype has, in fact, somewhat the appearance of being clothed in the rags of a pauper.

To point his slow and moving finger at-(72)
Yet could I bear that too, well, very well.
But there, where I have garnered 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 [there,
To knot and gender in; turn thy complexion
Patience, thou young and rose-plied cherubin ;
Aye, 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 even with blowing. Oh thou weed! Who art so lovely fair, and smellest so sweet, That the sense akes at thee-'Would thou hadst ne'er been born!

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,

[mitted ? Made to write whore upon ? what, what comCommitted ?-ho, thou public commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks,

(72) Directly opposite to Othello, and just under the remarkable streaks of light on Cassio's person, there is, in light, the likeness of a hand, which may be conceived to have a single finger pointing in either of the two opposite directions.

That would to cinders burn up modesty, [ted ?
Did I but speak thy deeds. What, what commit-
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hushed within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear't. What committed ?-impu-

dent strumpet!
Des. By Heaven 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 money for your

pains, pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel.


Æmil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? How do


madam? how do you, my good lady? Des. 'Faith, half asleep. Æmil. Good madam, what's the matter with

my lord?

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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 used so, very meet: How have I been behaved, that he might stick The smallest 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
Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks ; [babes,
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 bewhored her,

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