SCENE II.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter OTHELLO and EMILIA.

Oth. You have seen nothing then?

Emil. Nor ever heard; nor ever did suspect.

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. Emil. But then I saw no harm; and then I heard Each syllable, that breath made up between them. Oth. What, did they never whisper? Emil.

Oth. Nor send you out o'the way?

Emil.

Never, my lord

Never.

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor

nothing?

Emil. Never, my lord.

Oth

That's strange.

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch hath put this in your head,
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy; the purest of their wives
Is foul as slander,

Oth.

Bid her come hither;-go.

[Exit Emilia,

She says enough;-yet she's a simple bawd,

That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
A closet-lock-and-key of villainous secrets:
And yet she'll kneel, and pray; I have seen her do't.

Des.
What horrible fancy's this?
Oth. Some of your function, mistress;

Leave procreants alone, and shut the door;
Cough, or cry-hem, if any body come:

[To Emilia.

Your mystery, your mystery;-nay, despatch.

[Exit Emilia.

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils them

selves

Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double-damn'd, Swear-thou art honest.

Des.

Heaven doth truly know it.

Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as

hell.

Des. To whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?

Oth. O Desdemona!-away! away! away!

Des. Alas, the heavy day!-Why do you weep? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?

If, haply, you my father do suspect,

An instrument of this your calling back,

Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him,
Why, I have lost him too.

Oth.

Had it pleas'd heaven
To try me with affliction; had he rain'd

All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips;

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;

I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me
A fixed figure, for the time79 of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at,—
O! O!

Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart;
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!

Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads

To knot and gender in!-turn thy complexion there!

Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin;
Ay, there, look grim as hell!

Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,

That the sense aches at thee,Would, thou had'st ne'er been born!

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write whore upon? What committed! Committed!-O thou publick commoner! I should make very forges of my checks, That would to cinders burn up modesty, Did I but speak thy deeds.-What committed! Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks; The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,

Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,

And will not hear it:

Impudent strumpet!
Des.

What committed!—

By heaven, you do me wrong.

No, as I am a christian:

Oth. Are not you a strumpet?
Des.

If to preserve this vessel for my lord,
From any other foul unlawful touch,
Be-not to be a strumpet, I am none.
Oth. What, not a whore?

Des.

Oth. Is it possible?

No, as I shall be sav'd.

Des. O, heaven forgive us!

Oth.

I cry you mercy, then;

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice,
That married with Othello.-You, mistress,

Re-enter EMILIA.

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, you!
We have done our course; there's money for your

pains;

I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.

[Exit.

Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?— How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady? Des. 'Faith, half asleep.

Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Emilia;

I cannot weep; nor answer have I none,

But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night Lay on my bed my wedding sheets,-remember;And call thy husband hither.

Emil.

Here is a change, indeed!

Des. 'Tis meet I should be ús'd so, very meet.

[Exit.