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Iaco. 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;
Or, those that be not, would they might seem knaves.
Orh. Certain ! men should be what they seem.
IAGO. Why, then I think Cassio's an honest man.
Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this ;
I pray thee speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou doft ruminate: and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.
Iago. Good my Lord, pardon me. 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’re- vile and false; As where's that palace, whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keeps leets and law-days, and in fellion's fit, With meditations lawful ?
Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,
If thou but think't him wrong'd, and mak’it his ear
A ftranger to thy thoughts.
Iago. I do beseech you,
Think I, perchance, am vicious in my guess,
(As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
To 'spy into abuse; and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not) I entreat you then,
From one that so imperfe&tly conjects,
Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble
Out of my scattered and unsure observance :
It were not for your quiet, nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.
Oth. What dost thou mean?
Iago. Good name in man or 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. I'll know thy thoughts
Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilft ’tis in my custody.
Tago. Oh, beware, my Lord, of jealousy;
It is a 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 oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er,
Who doats, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves.
Oth. O misery!
Iaco. Poor and content, is rich and rich enough;
But riches endless, is as poor as winter,
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
Good Heaven ! the souls of all my tribe defend
· Orh. Why, why is this?
Think'it thou I'd make a life of jealousy?
To follow ttill the changes of the moon
With frelfi suspicions ?-'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 make 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'm glad of this; for now I shall have reason
To fhew the love and duty that I bear you
With franker fpirit. Therefore, as I'm bound,
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife, observe her well with Caffio ;
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-difpofition well ;
In Venice they do let Heav'n see the pranks
They dare not shew their husbands,
Oth. Dost thou fay fo?
IAGO. She did deceive her father, marrying you ; And when the seem'd to shake, 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 oak-
He thought 'twas witchcraft“But I'm much to blame ;
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon,
For too much loving you.
! Oth. I am bound to you for ever. .
Iago. I see this hath a little dash'd your fpirits,
Oth. Not a jot, not a jot.
D d 3. .
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'd-
I am to pray you, not to itrain my speech
To grosser issues, not to larger reach,
Than to suspicion.
OTH. I will not.
Iago. Should you do so, my Lord,
My speech would fall into such vile success,
Which my thoughts aim not at. 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 fo! and long live you to think so!
Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself -
Iago. 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 my smell, in such, a will most rank,
Foul disproportions, 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, haply, fo repent. .
Oth. Farewel, farewel;
If more thou doft perceive, let me know more ::
Set on thy wife t'observe. Leave me, fago.
Jago. My Lord, I take my leave.
Oth. Why did I marry ? This honeft creature, doubtless,
Sees, and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.
İago. My Lord, I would I might entreat your Honour
To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time :
Altho''tis fit that Callio have his place,
For, sure, he fills it up with great ability ;
Yet if you please to hold him off a while,
You fhall 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 mean time,
Let me be thought too busy in my fears,
(As worthy çause I have to fear I am)
And hold her free, I do beseech your Honour.
Orh. Fear not my government.
IAGO. I once more take my leave.
CH A P. XXVIII. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER's
H that this too too folid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! How weary, ftale, flat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world ! Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to feed; things rank, and grofs in nature, Possess it merely. That it should come to this! . But two months dead! nay, not so much ; not two; So excellent a king, that 'was, to this,