Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, I'll not endure it.-Would, I were satisfied! You would be satisfied? Oth. you. Would? nay, I will. Iago. And may: but, how? how satisfied, my lord? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? Oth. Death and damnation! O! lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, To bring them to that prospect: Damn them then, More than their own! What then? how then? Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkies, But, sith2 I am enter'd in this cause so far,- There are a kind of men so loose of soul, In sleep I heard him say,-Sweet Desdemona, And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand, (1) Speaking, manifest. (2) Since. That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg Iago. Nay, this was but his dream. Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion; 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. Iago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, That do demonstrate thinly. Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. Iago. Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done; She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,- Oth. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. Oth. 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: 'Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell! Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,2 For 'tis of aspics' 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 (1) The heart on which thou wast enthroned, (2) Freight, load. Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Swallow them up.-Now, by yond' marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow I here engage my words. Iago. [Kneels. Do not rise yet.— [Kneels. Witness, you ever-burning lights above! What bloody work soever. Oth. I greet thy love, Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance boun teous, 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. Oth. Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her! Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant Cassio lies? (1) Capacious. (2) Embrace. (3) Not of malice to others, but of tenderness for him. Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where. Clo. He is a soldier; and for me to say a soldier lies, is stabbing. Des. Go to Where lodges he? Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie. Des. Can any thing be made of this? Clo. I know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say-he lies here, or he lies there, were to lie in my own throat. Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report? Clo. I will catechize the world for him; that is, make questions, and by them answer. Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him, I have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope, all will be well. Clo To do this, is within the compass of man's wit; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [Ex. Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia? Emil. I know not, madam. Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse Full of crusadoes. And, but my noble Moor Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness As jealous creatures are, it were enough put him to ill-thinking. Το Emil. Is he not jealous? Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was born, Drew all such humours from him. Look, where he comes. Emil. 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.] O, hardness to dissemble! (1) A Portuguese coin. How do you, Desdemona? Well, my good lord. Oth. Give me your hand: This hand is moist, my lady. Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow. Oth. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart;— Hot, hot, and moist: This hand of yours requires A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, Much castigation, exercise devout; For here's a young and sweating devil here, Des. You may, indeed, say so; For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. But our new heraldry is-hands, not hearts. promise. Oth. What promise, chuck? Come now, your 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. Des. Here, my lord. have it not about me. That is a fault: No, indeed, my lord. Did an Egyptian to my mother give; She was a charmer,2 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 (1) Penance, discipline. (2) Enchantress. |