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Oth. Some of your function, mistress;

[To Emilia, Leave procreants alone, and shut the door; Cough, or cry–hem, if any body come: Your mystery, your mystery;—nay, despatch.

[Exit Emilia. Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech

I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

Oth. Why, what art thou?

Your wife, my lord; your true And loyal wife.

Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils them

selves Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double

damn'd, Swear-thou art honest. 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. O Desdemona!-away! away! away!
Des. Alas, the heavy day!—Why do

you weep? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord? If, haply, you my father do

father do suspect, An instrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me; if


have lost him, Why, I have lost him too. Oth.

Had it pleas'd heaven.

To try me with affliction; had he rain'd
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my

A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me
A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at, -
O! O!
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garner'd 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
To knot and gender in !-turn thy complexion

there! Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin; Ay, there, look grim as hell!

Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the sham

bles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, That the sense aches at thee,—'Would, thou had'st

ne'er been born! Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed ?

Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write whore upon? What committed! Committed!-O thou publick commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks, , That would to cinders burn up modesty,

Did I but speak thy deeds.—What committed!
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear it: What committed !-
Impudent strumpet!

By heaven, you do me wrong.
Oth. Are not you a strumpet?

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?

No, as I shall be sav'd.
Oth. Is it possible?
Des. O, heaven forgive us!

I cry you mercy, then; I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, That married with Othello.—You, mistress,

Re-enter Emilia.

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, you! We have done our course; there's

there's money


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

[Exit. Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman con

ceive?How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?

Des. 'Faith, half a-sleep.

Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my

lord ?
Des. With who?

Why, with my lord, madam.
Des. Who is thy lord?

He that is yours, sweet lady.
Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Emilia;
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none,
But what should go by water. Pr’ythee, to-night
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, --remember;-
And call thy husband hither.

Here is a change, indeed!

[Exit. Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. How have I been behav'd, that he might stick The small'st opinion on my great’st abuse?

Re-enter Emilia, with lago. Iago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is

it with you? Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young

Do it with gentle means,


He might have chid me so; for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.

What's the matter, lady? Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, As true hearts cannot bear.

Des. Am I that name, Iago?

What name, fair lady? Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was.

Emil. He call’d her, whore; a beggar, in his

Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.

Iago. Why did he so?
Des. I do not know; I am sure, I am none such.
Iago. Do not weep, do not weep; Alas, the day!

Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father, and her country, and her friends,
To be call'd—whore? would it not make one weep?

Des. It is my wretched fortune.

Beshrew him for it!
How comes this trick upon him?

Nay, heaven doth know.
Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Somę busy and insinuating rogue,
Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office,
Have not devis’d this slander; I'll be hang’d else.

Iago. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.
Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon bim!
Emil. A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his

bones! Why should he call her, whore? who keeps her

company? What place? what time? what form? what likeli

hood? The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave, Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow:O, heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold; And put in every honest hand a whip, To lash the rascal naked through the world, Even from the east to the west! Iago.

Speak within door!

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