One of this kind is Cassio.

In sleep I heard him say, -' Sweet Desdemona,

Let us be wary, let us hide our loves!'

And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand; Cry, O, sweet creature!' and then kiss me hard,

As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots,

That grew upon my lips; then laid his leg

Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then Cried, Cursed fate, that gave thee to the Moor!'

Oth. O monstrous! monstrous!

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 :-
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.

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, lago;

All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven: 'Tis gone.

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne 1
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,

For 'tis of aspics' tongues!

Iago. Pray, be content.
Oth.

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 Propontic 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,

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 3 us round about!
Witness, that here lago doth give up

The execution of his wit, hands, heart,

[kneels.

[kneels.

To wrong'd Othello's service! let him command,

And to obey shall be in me remorse, 1

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?

Clown. I dare not say, he lies any where.

Des. Why, man?

Clown. He is a soldier; and for me to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.

1 i. e. an act of tenderness to Othello, not of malice to his wrongers.

Des. Go to: where lodges he?

Clown. To tell you where he lodges is to tell

you where I lie.

Des. Can any thing be made of this?

Clown. 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?

Clown. I will catechise 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.

Clown. To do this, is within the compass of man's wit; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [Exit.

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief,

Emilia?

Emi. I know not, madam.

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse

Full of crusadoes: 1 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.

Emi.

Is he not jealous !

Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was

Drew all such humors from him.
Emi.

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?

4

Enter OTHELLO.

Oth. Well, my good lady.-[aside.] O, hardness

to dissemble!

How do you, Desdemona ?

Des.

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 re

quires

A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,
Much castigation, exercise devout;

For here 's a young and sweating devil here,
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.

Des. You may, indeed, say so:
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart,

Oth. 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?