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• Iago. Give it me.
Emil. What will you do with it, that you have been so earnest to have me filch it? Iago. Why, what's that to you?
(Snatching it. Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, Give it me again: Poor lady! she'll run mad, When she shall lack it.
Iago. Be not you known of't; I have use for it. Go, leave me.
I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,
And let him find it : Trifles, light as air,
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.
Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
Ha ! ha! false to me?
To me ?
Iago. Why, how now, general ? no more of that?
Oth. Avaunt! begone! thou hast set me on the rack.
Iago. I am sorry to hear this.
Oth. O now, for ever,
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content !
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell !
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war !
And you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone!
Iago. 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 am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day
See Cassio wipe his beard with.
If it be that,
Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers,
It speaks against her, with the other proofs.
Oth. O, 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 I do blow to heaven:
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell !
Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne,
To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
For 'tis of aspicks' tongues !
Iago. Pray, be content.
. O, blood, Iago, blood !
Iago. Patience, I say; your mind, perhaps, may change.
Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontick and the Hellespont; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up.—Now, by yond marble heaven, [Kneels In the due reverence of a sacred vow I here engage my words. Iago. Do not rise yet.
Witness, you ever-burning lights above !
You elements that clip us round about!
Witness, that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong’d Othello's service ! let him command,
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
What bloody work soever.
I greet thy love,
Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,
And will upon the instant put thee to't :
Within these three days let me hear thee say,
That Cassio's not alive.
Iago. My friend is dead; 'tis done, at your request :
But let her live.
Enter DESDEMONA, and EMILIA.
Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ?
Emil. I know not, madam.
Des. Believe me :-And, but my noble Moor
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.
Is he not jealous ?
Des. Who, he ? I think, the sun, where he was born,
Drew all such humors from him.
Look, where he comes.
Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio
Be call’d to him.-How is't with you, my lord ?
Enter OTHELLO. Oth. Well, my good lady ;-[Aside.]—0, hardness to dissemble ! How do you, Desdemona ?
Des. Well, my good lord
Oth. Give me your hand : 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.
Des. You may, indeed, say so;
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.
Oih. A liberal hand: The hearts, of old, gave hands :
But our new heraldry is—hands, not hearts.
Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now your promise.
Oth. What promise, chuck?
Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.
Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me;
Lend me thy handkerchief.
Here, my lord.
Oth. That which I gave you..
I have it not about me.
Des. No, indeed, my lord.
That is a fault.
Did an Egyptian to my mother give;
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people : she told her, while she kept it,
'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father
Entirely to her love; but if she lost it,
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt
After new fancies: She, dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
To give it her. I did so: and take heed oft,
Make it a darling like your precious eye;
To lose or give't away, were such perdition,
As nothing else could match.
Is it possible ?
Oth. 'Tis true; There's magic in the web of it.
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The sun to make two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work:
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk;
And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.
Indeed! is't true ?
Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.
Des. Then would to heaven, that I had never seen it.
Oth. Ha! wherefore ?
Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash ?-
Oth. Is't lost ? is't gone ? speak, is it out of the way?
Des. Heaven bless us !
Say you ?
Des. It is not lost; But what and if it were ?
Oth. Ha !
Des. I say, it is not lost.
Fetch't, let me see it.
Des. Why, so I car, sir, but I will not now;
This is a trick, to put me from my suit;
I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again.
Oih. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind misgives.
Des. Come, come;
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.
Oth. The handkerchief,
I pray, talk me of Cassio.
Oth. The handkerchief,
A man that, all his time,
Hath founded his good fortune on your love,
Shar'd dangers with you ; m m
The handkerchief, —
Des. In sooth,
You are to blame.
[Exit OTHELLO Emil.
Is not this man jealous ?
Des. I ne'er saw this before.
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief :
I am most unnappy in the loss of it.
Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man :
Look you! Cassio and my husband.
Enter Iago, and Cassio.
Iago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do't ;
And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her.
Des. How now, good Cassio ? what's the news with you?
Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you,
That, by your virtuous means, I may again
Exist, and be a member of his love.
Alas! thrice-gentle Cassio,
My advocation is not now in tune;
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him,
Were he in favor, as in humor, alter'd.
So help me, every spirit sanctified,
As I have spoken for you all my best,
And stood within the blank of his displeasure,
For my free speech! You must a while be patient :
What I can do, I will; and more I will,
Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you.
Tago. Is my lord angry?
He went hence but now,
And, certainly, in strange unquietness.
Iago. Can he be angry?
Something of moment, then: I will go meet him:
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry.
- Des. I prythee do so.—Something, sure, of state,- (Exit Lago
Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice,
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,-
Hath puddled his clear spirit : and, in such cases,
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object.
Nay, we must think, men are not gods;
Nor of them look for such observances
As fit the bridal.
Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think,
And no conception, nor no jealous toy,
Des. Alas, the day! I never gave him cause.
Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they are jealous.
Des. I will go seek Othello.—Cassio, walk hereabout:
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek to affect it to my uttermost.
Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.
[Exeunt DESDEMONA, and EMILIA. The catastrophe of this noble domestic tragedy, is foreshadowed in our extracts. Othello, convinced of his wife's dishonor, is instigated by rage and jealousy to take her life. But the innocence of Desdemona is proved by the confession of Emilia, and the discovery of Iago's treachery. Othello, overwhelmed with grief and remorse destroys himself, ani Iago is delivered a prisoner into the hands of justice.