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The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Oth. Oh misery!
Iago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough; But riches. endless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be
pour. Good heav'n! the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy!
Oth. Why? why is this? Think’st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy? To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh fufpicions ? No; to be once in doubt, Is once to be resolv’d. Exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul. ; ; To such exsufilicate and blown furmifes, Matching thy infercace. 'Tis not to make me jealous, To say, my wite is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, fings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, thele are most virtuous... Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smalleit fear, or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, lago, I'll fee, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And, on the proof, there is no more but this,'; Away at once with love, or jealousy.
Iago. I'm glad of this ; for now I Thall have reafor To thew. the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit. Therefore, as I'm bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet
I speak not yet of proof., Look to your wife, observe her well with Calo; Wear your eye, thus : not jealous, nor secure; I would not have your free and noble nature Out of self-bounty be abus'd; look to't.'. I know our country disposition well:;. , , In Venice they do let heav'n see the pranks, They dare not shew their husbands; their beft conscience Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. Oth. Doft thou say so?
Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying you; And when she feem'd to fhake, and fear your looks, She lov'd them most.
Oth. And so she did. Iago. Go to then; She, that, so young, could give out such a seeming To seal her father's eyes up, close as oakHe 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 Iago. I fee, this hath a little dath'd your spirits. Oih. Not a jot, not a jot. lago. Trust me, I fear, it has : I hope, you will consider, what is spoke Comes from my love. But, I do fee, you're mov'de I am to pray you, not to strain my speech To groffer ifsues, nor to larger reach, Than to suspicion.
Oth. I will not.
Oth. No, not much mov'd-
Iago. Long live she so! and long live you to think so!
lago. Ay, there's the point;-as (to be bold with you)
Oth. Farewel, farewel;
If more thou doit perceive, let me know more :
lago. My Lord, I would, I might entreat your Honour
Oth. Fear not my government.
Ev'n then, this forked plague is fated to us,
Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.
Oth. I am to blame.
Def. Why do you speak fo faintly?
Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here.
Des. Why, that's with watching, 'twill away again;
[She drops her handkerchief.
here alone ?
Iago. You have a thing for me?
Æmil, Oh, is that all? what will you give me now For that same handkerchief?
lago. What handkerchief?
Æmil. What handkerchief:.
F That which so often
did bid me steal. lago. Hast stollen it from her?
A mil. No;, but she let it drop by negligence; And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took’t up; Look, here 'tisi
Iago. A good wench, give it me.
Emil. What will you do with't, you have been so earneit To have me filch it? lago. Why, what is that to you? (Snatching it,
Æmil. If't be not for some purpose of import, Give't me again. Poor lady! The'll run mad, When the shall lack it.
lago. Be not you known on't: I have use for it. Go, leave me [Exit Æmil. I will in Casio'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. This may do something The Moor already changes with my poisons : Dang’rous conceits are in their nature poisons, Which aç the first are scarce found to distaste But, with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur, — I did say so.
Enter Othello.o Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy fyrups of the world, Shall ever med'cine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou hadft yefterday,
Oth. Ha! false to me! lage. Why, how now, General? no more of that.
Oib. Avant! be gone! thou’ft fet me on the rack: I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd, Than but to know a little, lago. How, my Lord?