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I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For such proceeding I am charged withal)

I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents, by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

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And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history.

These things to hear,

Would Desdemona seriously incline:

But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could do with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour: and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels† she had something heard,
But not intentively. I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

*My behaviour.

+ Parts.

Intention and attention were once synonymous.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

She swore,-in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; "Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:

She wish'd she had not heard it: yet she wish'd

That Heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd:

And I lov'd her that she did pity them.

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May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low

As hell's from heaven! If I were now to die
'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

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By Heaven, he echoes me,

As if there were some monster in his thought

Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something:

I heard thee say but now,

thou likedst not that,

When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?
And, when I told thee he was of my counsel

In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, Indeed?
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth.

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I think thou dost;

And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest 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 are close denotements, working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.

REPUTATION.

Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

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Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something
'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.

THE TORTURES OF JEALOUSY

Iago. Look, where he, comes !

[Enter Othello

Not poppy, nor mandragora,*

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owed'st† yesterday.

Oth.

To me?

Ha ha! false to me?

Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of that. Oth. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the rack I swear 'tis better to be much abused,

Than but to know't a little.

Iago.
Oth.

How now, my lord?

What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust?
I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I slept the next night well, was free and merry ;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.
Iago. I am sorry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. O now, for ever,
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell, content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,

The mandrake has a soporific quality.

Possessed'st.

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That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner; and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell, Othello's occupation's gone!
Iago. Is it possible!-My lord

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Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof;

[Taking him by the throat. Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, Thou hadst better have been born a dog, Than answer my waked wrath.

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