And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,—
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:
For such things in a false disloyal knave

Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just
They're close delations, working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.

Iago.

For Michael Cassio,

I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

Oth. I think so too.

Iago.

Men should be what they seem;

Why, then,

Or those that be not, would they might seem none!
Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem.
Iago.

I think Cassio's an honest man.

Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this:

I pr'ythee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,

As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

Good my lord, pardon me:

Iago.
Though I am bound to every act of duty,

I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.

Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false,—

As where's that palace whereunto foul things

Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure

But some uncleanly apprehensions

Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit

With meditations lawful?

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.

Iago.
I do beseech you,-
Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague

To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy

Shape faults that are not,-that your wisdom yet,
From one that so imperfectly conceits,

Would take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble
Out of his scattering and unsure observance :-
It were not for your quiet nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.

Oth.

What dost thou mean?

Iago. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;

But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.

lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

Oth. Ha!

Iago.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on: that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! Oth. O misery!

Iago. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough; But riches fineless is as poor as winter

To him that ever fears he shall be poor:

Good heaven, 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 suspicions? 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 exsufflicate and blown surmises,

Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous,
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous:
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt;
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago;
I'll see 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 am glad of it; for now I shall have reason
To show the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,
Receive it from me:-I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;
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 heaven see the pranks

They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown.

Oth. Dost thou say so?

Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying you; And when she seem'd to shake and fear your looks, She lov'd them most.

Oth. Iago.

And so she did.

Why, go to, then;

She that, so young, could give out such a seeming,

To seal her father's eyes up close as oak,

He thought 'twas witchcraft,-But I am much to blame; I humbly do beseech you of your pardon

For too much loving you.

Oth.
I am bound to thee for ever.
Iago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits.
Oth. Not a jot, not a jot.

Iago.

Trust me, I fear it has.

I hope you will consider what is spoke

Comes from my love;-but I do see you're mov'd:

I am to pray you not to strain my speech

To grosser issues nor to larger reach

Than to suspicion.

Oth. I will not.

Iago.

Should you do so, my lord,

My speech should fall into such vile success

:

Which my thoughts aim'd not. Cassio's my worthy friend :My lord, I see you're mov'd.

Oth.

No, not much mov'd:

I do not think but Desdemona's honest.

Iago. Long live she so! and long live you to think so! Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself,

lago. Ay, there's the point:-as,-to be bold with you,— Not to affect many proposed matches

Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
Whereto we see in all things nature tends,-
Foh! one may smell in such a will most rank,
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural :—
But pardon me: I do not in position
Distinctly speak of her; though I may fear
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment,
May fall to match you with her country forms,
And happily repent.

Oth.

Farewell, farewell:

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;
Set on thy wife to observe: leave me, Iago.
Iago. My lord, I take my leave.

[Going.

Oth. Why did I marry?—This honest creature doubtless Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

[honour

[Exit.

Iago. [returning.] My lord, I would I might entreat your
To scan this thing no further; leave it to time:
Although 'tis fit that Cassio have his place,-
For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,-
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile,
You shall by that perceive him and his means:
Note if your lady strain his entertainment
With any strong or vehement importunity;
Much will be seen in that. In the meantime
Let me be thought too busy in my fears,-
As worthy cause I have to fear I am,-
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.
Oth. Fear not my government.
Iago. I once more take my leave.
Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings,
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have; or, for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years, yet that's not much,
She's gone; I am abus'd; and my relief
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love

For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones;
Prerogativ'd are they less than the base;
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:
Even then this forked plague is fated to us
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!-
I'll not believe't.

Des.

Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA.
How now, my dear Othello!

Your dinner, and the generous islanders

By you invited, do attend your presence.

Oth. I am to blame.

Des.

Are you not well?

Why do you speak so faintly?

Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here.

Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again : Let me but bind it hard, within this hour

It will be well.

Oth.

Your napkin is too little;

[He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it. Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. Des. I am very sorry that you are not well.

[Exeunt ОTH. and DES.
Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin:
This was her first remembrance from the Moor:
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,-
For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it,-
That she reserves it evermore about her

To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
And give't Iago:

What he'll do with it heaven knows, not I;

I nothing but to please his fantasy.

Re-enter IAGO.

Iago. How now! what do you here alone?
Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.
Iago. A thing for me!-it is a common thing.
Emil. Ha!

L

Iago. To have a foolish wife.

Emil. O, is that all? What will you give me now For that same handkerchief?

Iago.

Emil. What handkerchief!

What handkerchief?

Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

Iago. Hast stol'n it from her?

Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence, And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up. Look, here it is.

Iago.

A good wench; give it me.

Emil. What will you do with't, that you have been so To have me filch it?

Iago.

Why, what's that to you?

[earnest

[Snatching it.

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, Give't me again: poor lady, she'll run mad When she shall lack it.

Iago. Be not acknown on't; I have use for it. Go, leave me.

[Exit EMILIA.