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Des. My lord !
Oth. I am glad to see you mad.
Des. Why, sweet Othello ?
Oth. Devil!

[Striking her. Des. I have not deserved this.

[Venice, Lod. My lord, this would not be believed in Though I should swear I saw't. 'Tis very much; Make her amends, she weeps.

Oth. Oh devil, devil! If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile; (70) Out of my sight.

Des. I will not stay t' offend you. [Going

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady:
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Oth. Mistress-
Des. My lord.
Oth. What would you with her, sir?
Lod. Who, I, my lord ?

Oth. Ay; you didwish that I would make her turn;
Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on ;
And turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep ;
And she's obedient: as you say, obedient ;

(70) Compare this passage with that in Hamlet to which fig. 75 applies, as it regards the same likeness to a crocodile in the moon.

your tears

Very obedient-proceed you

in Concerning this, sir,---oh well-painted passion !-I am commanded home--get you away, I'll send for you anon,--sir, I obey the mandate, And will return to Venice.--Ilence, avant !

[Erit Des. Cassio shall bave my place. And, sir, to-night I do intreat that we may sup together. You are welcome, sir, to CyprusGoats and monkeys.

[E.rit. Manent Lodovico and LAGO. Lod. Is this the noble Moor, whom our full senate Call all-in-all sufficient? this the Nature Which passion could not shake? whose solid virtue The shot of accident, nor dart of change, Could neither race nor pierce?

Iago. He is much changed. Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain? lago. He's what he is; I may not breathe my

censure. What he might be, if what he might he is not, I would to Heaven he were !

Lod. What, strike his wife!

Iago. ’Faith, that was not so well; yet 'would That stroke would prove the worst. [I knew.

Lod. Is it his use?
Or did the letters work upon his blood,
And new create this fault?

lago. Alas, alas ! It is not honesty in me to speak

[him, What I have seen and known. You shall observe And his own courses will denote him so, That I may save my speech, Do but go after, And mark how he continues. Lod. I'm sorry that I am deceived in him.

[Exeunt. SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace.

Enter OTHELLO and ÆMILIA. Oth. You have seen nothing then ? Æmil. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect. Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and her together. Æmil. But then I saw no harm; and then I

heard Each syllable that breath made up between them.

Oth. What? did they never whisper ?
Æmil. Never, my lord.
Oth. Nor send you out o'th' way?
Æmil, Never.
Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor
Æmil. Never, my lord.

[nothing? Oth. That's strange!

Æmil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, Lay down my soul at stake : if


think other, Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom, If any wretch hath put this in your head,

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 ;

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

like one

[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.

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