Iago. I do not like the Office.

But sith I am entred in this cause so farre (p.r.i.c.k'd too't by foolish Honesty, and Loue) I will go on. I lay with Ca.s.sio lately, And being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleepe. There are a kinde of men, So loose of Soule, that in their sleepes will mutter Their Affayres: one of this kinde is Ca.s.sio: In sleepe I heard him say, sweet Desdemona, Let vs be wary, let vs hide our Loues, And then (Sir) would he gripe, and wring my hand: Cry, oh sweet Creature: then kisse me hard, As if he pluckt vp kisses by the rootes, That grew vpon my lippes, laid his Leg ore my Thigh, And sigh, and kisse, and then cry cursed Fate, That gaue thee to the Moore

Oth. O monstrous! monstrous!

Iago. Nay, this was but his Dreame

Oth. But this denoted a fore-gone conclusion, 'Tis a shrew'd doubt, though it be but a Dreame

Iago. And this may helpe to thicken other proofes, That do demonstrate thinly

Oth. Ile teare her all to peeces

Iago. Nay yet be wise; yet we see nothing done, She may be honest yet: Tell me but this, Haue you not sometimes seene a Handkerchiefe Spotted with Strawberries, in your wiues hand?

Oth. I gaue her such a one: 'twas my first gift

Iago. I know not that: but such a Handkerchiefe (I am sure it was your wiues) did I to day See Ca.s.sio wipe his Beard with

Oth. If it be that

Iago. If it be that, or any, it was here.

It speakes against her with the other proofes

Othel. O that the Slaue had forty thousand liues: One is too poore, too weake for my reuenge.

Now do I see 'tis true. Looke heere Iago, All my fond loue thus do I blow to Heauen. 'Tis gone.

Arise blacke vengeance, from the hollow h.e.l.l, Yeeld vp (O Loue) thy Crowne, and hearted Throne To tyrannous Hate. Swell bosome with thy fraught, For 'tis of Aspickes tongues

Iago. Yet be content

Oth. Oh blood, blood, blood

Iago. Patience I say: your minde may change

Oth. Neuer Iago. Like to the Ponticke Sea, Whose Icie Current, and compulsiue course, Neu'r keepes retyring ebbe, but keepes due on To the Proponticke, and the h.e.l.lespont: Euen so my b.l.o.o.d.y thoughts, with violent pace Shall neu'r looke backe, neu'r ebbe to humble Loue, Till that a capeable, and wide Reuenge Swallow them vp. Now by yond Marble Heauen, In the due reuerence of a Sacred vow, I heere engage my words

Iago. Do not rise yet: Witnesse you euer-burning Lights aboue, You Elements, that clip vs round about, Witnesse that heere Iago doth giue vp The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wrong'd Oth.e.l.lo's Seruice. Let him command, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What b.l.o.o.d.y businesse euer

Oth. I greet thy loue, Not with vaine thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, And will vpon the instant put thee too't.

Within these three dayes let me heare thee say, That Ca.s.sio's not aliue

Iago. My Friend is dead: 'Tis done at your Request.

But let her liue

Oth. d.a.m.ne her lewde Minx: O d.a.m.ne her, d.a.m.ne her.

Come go with me a-part, I will withdraw To furnish me with some swift meanes of death For the faire Diuell.

Now art thou my Lieutenant

Iago. I am your owne for euer.

Exeunt.

Scaena Quarta.

Enter Desdemona, aemilia, and Clown.

Des. Do you know Sirrah, where Lieutenant Ca.s.sio lyes?

Clow. I dare not say he lies any where

Des. Why man?

Clo. He's a Soldier, and for me to say a Souldier lyes, 'tis stabbing

Des. Go too: where lodges he?

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tel you where I lye

Des. Can any thing be made of this?

Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for mee to deuise a lodging, and say he lies heere, or he lies there, were to lye in mine owne throat

Des. Can you enquire him out? and be edified by report?

Clo. I will Catechize the world for him, that is, make Questions, and by them answer

Des. Seeke him, bidde him come hither: tell him, I haue moou'd my Lord on his behalfe, and hope all will be well

Clo. To do this, is within the compa.s.se of mans Wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing it.

Exit Clo.

Des. Where should I loose the Handkerchiefe, aemilia?

Aemil. I know not Madam

Des. Beleeue me, I had rather haue lost my purse Full of Cruzadoes. And but my n.o.ble Moore Is true of minde, and made of no such basenesse, As iealious Creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill-thinking.

Aemil. Is he not iealious?

Des. Who, he? I thinke the Sun where he was borne, Drew all such humors from him.

Aemil. Looke where he comes.

Enter Oth.e.l.lo.

Des. I will not leaue him now, till Ca.s.s...o...b.. Call'd to him. How is't with you, my Lord?

Oth. Well my good Lady. Oh hardnes to dissemble!

How do you, Desdemona?

Des. Well, my good Lord

Oth. Giue me your hand.

This hand is moist, my Lady

Des. It hath felt no age, nor knowne no sorrow

Oth. This argues fruitfulnesse, and liberall heart: Hot, hot, and moyst. This hand of yours requires A sequester from Liberty: Fasting, and Prayer, Much Castigation, Exercise deuout, For heere's a yong, and sweating Diuell heere That commonly rebels: 'Tis a good hand, A franke one

Des. You may (indeed) say so: For 'twas that hand that gaue away my heart

Oth. A liberall hand. The hearts of old, gaue hands: But our new Heraldry is hands, not hearts