Enter OTHELLO. Oth. Well, my good Lady :-[Aside. O, hard ness to dissemble! How do you, Desdemona? Oth. Give me your hand: This hand is moist, my Lady. 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, Des. You may, indeed, say so; For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. Oth. A liberal hand: The hearts, of old, gave hands; But our new heraldry is-hands, not hearts. Come now your promise. Oth. What promise, chuck? Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me; Lead me thy handkerchief. Des. Here, my Lord. Oth. That which I gave you. Oth. Not? Des. No, indeed, my Lord. Oth. That is a fault: That handkerchief 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 it, '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 lose or give't away, were such perdition, Des. 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, In her prophetick fury sew'd the work: The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk; And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. Des. Indeed! is't true? Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to't well. Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never seen it. Oth. Ha! wherefore? Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? Oth. Is't lost? is't gone? is it out of the way? Des. Heaven bless us! Oth. Say you? Des. Is it not lost; But what an if it were? Des. I say, it is not lost. Oth. 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; pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my Des. Come, come; misgives. You'll never meet a more sufficient man. Oth. The handkerchief, Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. Des. A man that, all his time, Hath founded his good fortune on your love; mind Oth. The handkerchief, Des: In sooth, You are to blame. Oth. Away! [Exit OTHELLO. Emil. 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. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; They eat us bungerly, and when they are full, They belch us. Look you! Cassio, and my husband. 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, 1 may again Exist, and be a member of his love, Whom 1, with all the duty of my heart, Entirely honour; I would not be delay'd: If my offence be of such mortal kind, Can ransom me into his love again, Des. 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; Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you. my y? Emil. 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 apgry. Des. I pr'ythee, do so. of Something, sure, state, [Exit IAGO. Either from Venice! or some unhatch'd practice, Made demonstrable 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 As fit the bridal.- Beshrew me much, Emilia, Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think; And no conception, nor no jealous toy, Concerning you. Des. Alas, the day! I never gave him cause. Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster, Begot upon itself, born on itself. Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's about: If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, [Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA. Enter BIANCA. Bian. Save you friend Cassio! Cas. What make you from home? How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. What! keep a week away? seven days and nights? Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours, |