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Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. What! keep a week away? seven days and nights ? Eight score eight hours ? and lovers' absent hours, More tedious than the dial eight score times ? O weary reckoning !

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca; I have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ; But I shall, in a more continuate time, Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,

[Giving her Desdemona's handkerchief. Take me this work out.

Bian. O, Cassio, whence came this? This is some token from a newer friend. To the felt absence now I feel a cause : Is it come to this? Well, well.

Cas. Woman, go to!


in the devil's teeth,
From whence you have them. You are jealous now,
That this is from some mistress, some remembrance:
No, in good troth, Bianca.

Bian. Why, whose is it?

Cas. I know not, sweet: I found it in
I like the work well ; ere it be demanded,
(As like enough, it will, I'd have it copied :
Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time.

Bian. Leave you ! wherefore?

Cas. I do attend here on the general;
And think it no addition, nor my wish,
To have him see me woman'd.

Bian. Why, I pray you?
Cas. Not that I love you not.

my chamber.

Bian. But that


do not love me.
I pray you, bring me on the way a little;

if I shall see you soon at night.
Cas. Tis but a little way, that I can bring you,
For I attend here: but I'll see you soon.
Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d.


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SCENE I.-The sami.

Enter OTHELLO and Iago.
lago. Will you think so?
Oth. Think so, lago?

Tago. What,
To kiss in private!

Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss.

Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed, An hour, or more, not meaning any harm?

Oth. Naked abed, lago, and not mean harm? It is hypocrisy against the devil: They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.

Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip: But if I give my wife a handkerchief,

Oth. What then?

Iago. Why, then 'tis hers, my lord; and, being hers, She

may, I think, bestow't on any man. Oth. She is protectress of her honour too; May she give that?

Iago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen; They have it very oft, that have it not: But, for the handkerchief, Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot

it :

Thou said'st,-0, it comes o'er my memory,
As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
Boding to all,—he had my handkerchief.

Iago. Ay, what of that?
Oth. That's not so good, now.
Iago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you

Or heard him say,--As knaves be such abroad,
Who having, by their own importunate suit,
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose
But they must blab-

Oth. Hath he said any thing?

Iago. He hath, my lord; but be you well assurd, No more than he'll unswear.

Oth. What hath he said?
Iago. 'Faith, that he did, -I know not what he did.
Oth. What? what?
Iago. Lie-
Oth. With her?
Iago. With her, on her; what you will.

Oth. Lie with her! lie on her !-We say, lie on her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's fulsome.Handkerchief, --confessions,-handkerchief.-To confess, and be hanged for his labour.–First, to be hanged, and then to confess :-1 tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion, without some instruction. It is not words, that shake me thus :

- Pish!-Noses, ears, and lips :—Is it possible?--Confess!-Handkerchief !-O devil !- [Falls in a trance.

Iago. Work on, My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught;

And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus,
All guiltless meet reproach.—What, ho! my lord !

Enter Cassio.
My lord, I say! Othello !-How now, Cassio

Cas. What is the matter?

lago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy; This is his second fit; he had one yesterday.

Cas. Rub him about the temples.

Iago. No, forbear:
The lethargy must have his quiet course:
If not, he foams at mouth; and, by and by,
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:
Do you withdraw yourself a little while,
He will recover straight; when he is gone,
I would on great occasion speak with you.-

[Erit Cassio. How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head?

Oth. Dost thou mock me?

Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven: 'Would, you would bear


fortunes like a man. Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast.

Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous city, And many a civil monster.

Oth. Did he confess it?

Iago. Good sir, be a man; Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yok’d, May draw with you: there's millions now alive, That nightly lie in those unproper beds, Which they dare swear peculiar; your case is better. O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, To lip a wanton in a secure couch,

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