Enter OTHELLO. Oth. Well, my good lady. [Aside.] O, hardness to

dissemble ! How do you, Desdemona ? Des.

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

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. Des. I cannot speak of this. 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; Lend me thy handkerchief. Des.

Here, my lord.
Oth. That which I gave you.
Des.

I have it not about me. Oth. Not ?

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

Des.

i The folio reads " sorry." Rider explains sullen by acerbus (Latin). 2 Charmer, for enchanter, is of common occurrence in Scripture.

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 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.

Des. Is it possible ?

Oth. 'Tis true; there's magic in the web of it.
A sibyl, that had numbered in the world
The sun to make two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sewed the work.
The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk ;
And it was dyed in mummy,' which the skilful
Conserved 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? Speak, is it out of the

way?
Des. Heaven bless us !
Oth.

Say you ?
Des. It is not lost; but what an if it were ?
Oth. Ha!
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;
I pray, let Cassio be received again.

OF VENICE

Des.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 471
Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief; my mind mis-

gives.
Des. Come, come;
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.
Oth. The handkerchief,-

I pray, talk me of Cassio.'
Oth. The handkerchief,
Des.

A man that, all his time, Hath founded his good fortune on your love ; Shared dangers with you; 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 hungerly, 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 importune 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 honor ; I would not be delayed. If my offence be of such mortal kind,

That neither service past, nor present sorrows,
Nor purposed 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 forced content,
And shut myself up in some other course,
To fortune's alms.
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 favor, as in humor, altered.
So help me, every spirit sanctified,
As I have spoken for you all my best ;
And stood within the blank 3 of his displeasure,
For my free speech! You must awhile 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?
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 Puffed 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 prythee, do so.—Something, sure, of state,

[Exit Iago. Either from Venice; or some unhatched practice, 4 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;

When it hath Javil. from his

can he be angin:

For let our finger ache, and it indues ?
Our other healthful members even to that sense
Of pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods ;
Nor of them look for such observances
As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was (unhandsome warrior 3 as I am)
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
But now I find I had suborned the witness,
And he's indicted falsely
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 answered 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

mind! Emil. Lady, amen.

Des. I will go seek him.-Cassio, walk here about; If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, And seek to effect it to my uttermost. Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.

[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 ? Eightscore hours ? and lovers’ absent hours, More tedious than the dial eightscore times ? O weary reckoning!