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Oth. That handkerchief
Did an Egyptian to my mother give;
She was a charmer,* and could almost read
The thoughts of people: she told her, while sti

kept it,
"Twould make her amiable, and subdue my fathe
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 bunt
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 of 't,
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 died in mummy, which the skilful
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.

What I keep a week away? seven days and night
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours
More tedious than the dial eight score times?
O weary reckoning!

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What hath he said? lago. 'Faith, that he did, -I know not what he di Oth. What? what? Iago. LieOth. With her? Iago. With her, on her; what you will pih. Lie with her! lie on her-We say, lie

* Enchantress.

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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 banged, and then to confess:- I 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!

_0 devil!

[Falls in a trance.
A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman!
Iago. Nay, you must forget that.

Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned to-night; for she shall not live: No, my heart is turned to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand, 0, the world hath not a sweeter creature: she might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.

Iago. Nay, that's not your way.

Oth. Hang her; I do but say what she is: So de licate with her needle! An admirable musician! 0, she will sing the savageness out of a hear!-Of so high and plenteous wit and invention !

Iago. She's the worse for all this.

Oth. 0, a thousand, a thousand times:-And then, of so gentle a condition !

Iago. Ay, too gentle.

Oih. Nay, that's certain: But yet the pity of it, lago!-0, lago, the pity of it, Iago.

Oth. Mistress,

What would you with her, sir?
Lod. Who, I, my lord?
Oth. Ay; you did wish, that I would make her

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,-
Very obedient;- Proceed you in your tears.-

* A proverbial saying.
+ Of so sweet a disposition.

My lord?

Concerning this, sir,--0, well-painted passion;
I an commanded home:-Get you away;
I'll send for you anon.--Sir, I obey the mandate,
And will return to Venice;-Hence, avaunt!

Cassio shall have my place. And,--sir, to-night,
I do entreat that we may sup together.
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.-Goats, and mon:




Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im-
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 themselves
Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double-

Swear--thou art honest.

Heaven doth truly know it. Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as

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 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.

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 soul
A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me

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A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at,-
0! 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 cherubim;
Ay, there, look grim as hell!
Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles,
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 hadst

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 thou public 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 saved
Oth. Is it possible?
Des. O, heaven forgive us!

* Treasured up


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

0, good lago,
What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will—Though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement,-love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may

defeat But never taint my love.

my life,

SCENE.- A Bedchamber; DESDEMONA in bed

asleep.' A lighi burning.
It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul.-
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause.--Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor scar that whiter skin of her's than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.

[Takes off his sword.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light:**
If I quench thee, thou fļaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me:--but once put out thine,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd

thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again,

* i: e. The light of life.

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