Iago. She did deceive her father marrying you; And when the feem'd to thake and fear your looks, She lov'd them most. Oth. And fo fhe did. She, that, fo young, could give out such a seeming To feal her father's eyes up, close as oak He thought 'twas witchcraft--but I'm much to blame: I humbly do befeech you of your pardon, For too much loving you. Oth. I'm bound to you for ever. Iago. I fee this hath a little dash'd your spirits. lago. Trust me, I fear it has : I hope you will confider, what is spoke Comes from my love. But I do fee you're mov'd I am to pray you, not to train my fpeech To groffer iffues, nor to larger reach, Than to fufpicion. Oth. I will not.. Iago. Should you do fo, my Lord, My fpeech would fall into fuch vile fuccefs †, Which my thoughts aim not at. My Lord, I fee you're mov'd Oth. No, not much mov'd Caffio's my worthy [friend. I do not think but Defdemona's honest. lago. Long live the fo! and long live you to think fo! Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itselflago. Ay, there's the point; as (to be bold with you) Not to affect many propofed matches Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, Oth. Farewel, farewel; *ifies, for conclufions. † juciefs, for fucceffin, i, e. conclufion ; not profperous iffuer If more thou doft perceive, let me know more; This honeft creature, doubtless, [Going. Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. [Exit. SCENE VI. Manet Othello. Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned fpirit, Of human dealings. If I prove her haggard, Tho' that her jeffes were my dear heart-firings, I'd whiftle her off, and let her down the wind To prey at fortune. Haply, for I'm black, And have not those foft parts of converfation That chamberers have; or for I am declin'd Into the vale of years, yet that's not much— She's gone, I am abus'd, and my relief Must be to lothe her. Oh, the curse of marriage! That we can call thefe delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love, For others' ufe. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones; Prerogativ'd are they lefs than the base; 'Tis deftiny unfhúnnable, like death. Even then this forked plague is fated to us * learned, for experienced. When When we do quicken. Desdemona comes ! Enter Defdemona and Emilia. If fhe be falfe, oh, then heav'n mocks itself: Def. How now, my dear Othello? Your dinner, and the generous islanders Def. Why do you fpeak fo faintly? Are you not well? Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. Def. Why, that's with watching, 'twill away again. Let me but bind it hard, within this hour It will be well. Oth. Your napkin is too little; [She drops her handkerchief. Let it alone: come, I'll go in with you. Def. I am very forry that you are not well. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Manet Emilia. Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin; To kifs and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, Heav'n knows, not I: I nothing, but to please his phantafy. Enter Iàgo. Jago. How now? what do you here alone? Iago. You have a thing for me? It is a common thing Emil. Ha? Iago. To have a foolish wife. Emil. Oh, is that all? what will you give me now For that fame handkerchief? Iago. What handkerchief? VOL. VIII. Emil. 242 Emil. What handkerchief? Why, that the Moor firft gave to Desdemona, Rmil No; but fhe let it drop by negligence; And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took't up. Iago. A good wench, give it me. Emil. What will you do with't, you have been fo To have me filch it? Iago. Why, what is that to you? [earnest [Snatching it. Emil. If't be not for fome purpose of import, Give't me again. Poor lady! the'll run mad, When the fhall lack it. Iago. Be not you known cn't: [Exit Emilia. I have ufe for it. Go, leave me→→ Trifles light as air Are to the jealous confirmations strong "As proofs of holy writ. This may do fomething. "The Moor already changes with my poisons : Dangerous conceits are in their nature poifons, Which at the first are fcarce found to distaste; "But, with a little act upon the blood, "Burn like the mines of fulphur.-I did fay fo." SCENE VIII. Enter Othello. Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowfy fyrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that fweet fleep, Which thou owedit yesterday. Oth. Ha! falfe to me! Iago. Why, how now, General? no more of that. Than but to know a little. Iago. How, my Lord? Cth." What fenfe had I of her ftol'n hours or luft? "I faw't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me ; "I flept the next night well; was free and merry; "I found not Caffio's kiffes on her lips. He that is robb'd, not wanting what is foln, Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all. lago. I am forry to hear this. Qth." I had been happy, if the general camp (Pioneers and all) had tafted her sweet body, "So I had nothing known. Oh now, for ever "Farewel the tranquil mind! Farewel content! "Farewel the plumed troops, and the big war, "That make ambition virtue! oh, farewel! "Farewel the neighing fteed, and the fhrill trump, "The fpirit-ftirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, "The royal banner, and all quality, "Pride, pomp, and circumftance of glorious war! "And, oh, you mortal engines, whofe rude throats "Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, "Farewel! Othello's occupation's gone? Iago. Is't poffible, my Lord? Oth. Villain, be fure thou prove my love a whore; Be fure of it give me the occular proof, [Catching hold on him: Or, by the worth of man's eternal foul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, Iago Is't come to this? Oth. Make me to fee't; or, at the leaft fo prove it, That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, To hang a doubt on: or woe upon thy life! Iago. My Noble Lord Oth. If thou doft flander her, and torture me, Never pray more; abandon all remorse †; On horrors head horrors accumulate; Do deeds to make heav'n weep, all earth amaz'd; Greater than that. Iago. Oh grace! oh heav'n defend me ! Are you a man? have you a foul? or fenfe? God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched fool, That liv'ft to make thine honesty a vice! Oh monstrous, world! take note, take note, oh world, To be direct and honeft, is not fafe. I thank you for this profit, and from hence I'll love no friend, fith love breeds fuch offence. |