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Oth. Well, my good lady:-[Aside.] O, hardness to dissemble!

How do you, Desdemona?


Well, my good lord.

Oth. Give me your hand: This hand is moist, my


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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, That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, A frank one.


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

Oth. A liberal hand: The hearts, of old, gave


But our new heraldry is-hands, not hearts.

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now your promise.

Oth. What promise, chuck?

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with


Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me; Lend me thy handkerchief.


Here, my lord.

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Did an Egyptian to my mother give;

She was a charmer, and could almost read

The thoughts of people: she told her, while she kept


'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

Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt
After new fancies: She, dying, gave it me;

And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
To give it her. I did so: and take heed of't,
Make it a darling like your precious eye;
To lose or give't away, were such perdition,
As nothing else could match.


Is it possible?

Oth. 'Tis true: there's magick in the web of it:

A sibyl, that had number'd in the world

The sun to make two hundred compasses"1,

In her prophetick fury sew'd the work:

The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk; And it was dy'd in mummy72, which the skilful Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.


Indeed! is't true?

Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.

Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never seen


Oth. Ha! wherefore?

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash?

Oth. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the

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Des. It is not lost; But what an if it were?

Oth. Ha?

Des. I say, it is not lost.


Fetch't, let me see it.

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now;

This is a trick, to put me from my suit;

I pray,

let Cassio be receiv'd again.

Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind mis


Des. Come, come;

You'll never meet a more sufficient man.

Oth. The handkerchief,—


Oth. The handkerchief,—


I pray, talk me of Cassio.

A man that, all his time,

Hath founded his good fortune on your love;

Shar'd dangers with you;—

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Is not this man jealous?

Des. I ne'er saw this before.

Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Emil. 73 "Tis not a year or two shows us a man:
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full,
They belch us. Look you! Cassio, and my hus-

Enter IAGO and CASSIO.

Iago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do't; And, lo, the happiness! go, and impórtune her. Des. How now, good Cassio? what's the news with you?

Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you, That, by your virtuous means, I may again

Exist, and be a member of his love,
Whom I, with all the duty of my heart,

Entirely honour; I would not be delay'd:
If my offence be of such mortal kind,
That neither service past, nor present sorrows,
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity,

Can ransom me into his love again,

But to know so must be my benefit;

So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content,
And shut myself up in some other course,
To fortune's alms.


Alas! thrice-gentle Cassio,

My advocation is not now in tune;

My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,
Were he in favour, as in humour, alter'd.

So help me every spirit sanctified,

As I have spoken for you all my best;

And stood within the blank of his displeasure,
For my free speech! You must a while be patient:
What I can do, I will; and more I will,

Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you.

Iago. Is my lord angry?


He went hence but now,

And, certainly, in strange unquietness.

Iago. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon, When it hath blown his ranks into the air;

And, like the devil, from his very arm

Puff'd his own brother;-And can he be angry?
Something of moment, then: I will go meet him;
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry.


Des. I pr'ythee, do so.-Something, sure, of
[Exit Lago.
Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice,
Made démonstrable here in Cyprus to him,-
Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, in such cases,
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so;
For let our finger ach, and it indues

Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense
Of pain: Nay, we must think, men are not gods;
Nor of them look for such observances

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