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Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust? I saw't not, thought it not, it harmed not me; I slept the next night well; was free and merry; I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know't, and he's not robb’d at all.
lago. I am sorry to hear this.
Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, (Pioneers and all,) had tasted her sweet body, So I had nothing known. Oh now, Farewel the tranquil mind ! farewel content ! Farewel the plumed troops, and the big war, That make ambition virtue! oh, farewel ! Farewel the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit stirring drum, the eur piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And, oh, you mortal engines, whose rude throats Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewel! Othello's occupation's gone!
Iago. Is't possible, my lord ?
Oth. Villain, besure you prove my love a whore; Be sure of it: give me the ocular proof.
[Catching hold on him. Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, Thou hadst been better, being born a dog, (62) Than answer my naked wrath.
(62) Being born a dog. If the north side of the moon Iago. Is't come to this?
[it, Oth. Make me to see't; or, at the least, so prove That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, (63) 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 amaz’d;
be on the right hand, and Iago's head be looked at horizontally, it will exbibit the likeness of a mastiff dog barking; and as this is often alluded to in respect of this part of the moon, the dog is drawn in
(63) Hinge nor loop. Note the shape of the streaks of light on the upper part of Cassio's person.
For nothing canst thou to damnation add,
Iago. Oh grace! ok Heaven defend me!
Oth. Nay, stay—thou shouldst be honest
Iago. I should be wise, for honesty's a fool, And loses what it works for.
Oth. By the world, I think my wife is honest, and think she is not; I think that thou art just, and think thou art not; I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as fresh As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black As my own face. If there be cords, or knives, Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, I'll not endure't-'Would I were satisfied !
Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion; I do repent me that I put it to you. You would be satisfied ?
Oth. Would ? nay, and will. lago. And may ; but how ? how satisfied, my
be supervisor, grossly gape on? [lord ? Behold her tupp'd ?
Oth. Death and damnation ! oh!
Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, To bring 'em 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 might hav't.
Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal.
Iago. I do not like the office:
Oth. Oh, monstrous! monstrous!
Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion; ‘T'is a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.
Jago. 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 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, [done; 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'm sure it was your wife's), did I to-day See Cassio wipe his beard with.
Oth. If it be that
Iago. If it be that, or any, if 'twas 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 true.---Look here, Iago, All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven;
Arise black vengeance from the hollow hell!
Iago. Yet be content.
Oth. Never Iago. Like to the Pontic sea,