The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 403

It is impossible you should see this Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, If imputation and strong circ.u.mstances, Which lead directly to the door of truth, Will give you satisfaction, you may have't.

OTh.e.l.lO. Give me a living reason she's disloyal.

IAGO. I do not like the office; But sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, p.r.i.c.k'd to't by foolish honesty and love, I will go on. I lay with Ca.s.sio lately And, being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep.

There are a kind of men so loose of soul, That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs; One of this kind is Ca.s.sio.

In sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves"; And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry, "O sweet creature!" and then kiss me hard, As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, That grew upon my lips; then laid his leg Over my thigh, and sigh'd and kiss'd; and then Cried, "Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!"

OTh.e.l.lO. O monstrous! monstrous!

IAGO. Nay, this was but his dream.

OTh.e.l.lO. But this denoted a foregone conclusion.

'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

IAGO. And this may help to thicken other proofs That do demonstrate thinly.

OTh.e.l.lO. I'll tear her all to pieces.

IAGO. Nay, but be wise; yet we see nothing done; She may be honest yet. Tell me but this; Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?

OTh.e.l.lO. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.

IAGO. I know not that; but such a handkerchief- I am sure it was your wife's- did I today See Ca.s.sio wipe his beard with.

OTh.e.l.lO. If it be that- IAGO. If it be that, or any that was hers, It speaks against her with the other proofs.

OTh.e.l.lO. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!

One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.

Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago, All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.

'Tis gone.

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow h.e.l.l!

Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics' tongues!

IAGO. Yet be content.

OTh.e.l.lO. O, blood, blood, blood!

IAGO. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may change.

OTh.e.l.lO. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the h.e.l.lespont, Even so my b.l.o.o.d.y thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow Kneels.

I here engage my words.

IAGO. Do not rise yet. Kneels.

Witness, you ever-burning lights above, You elements that clip us round about, Witness that here Iago doth give up The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wrong'd Oth.e.l.lo's service! Let him command, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What b.l.o.o.d.y business ever. They rise.

OTh.e.l.lO. I greet thy love, Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, And will upon the instant put thee to't: Within these three days let me hear thee say That Ca.s.sio's not alive.

IAGO. My friend is dead, 'tis done at your request; But let her live.

OTh.e.l.lO. d.a.m.n her, lewd minx! O, d.a.m.n her!

Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.

IAGO. I am your own forever. Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Before the castle.

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown.

DESDEMONA. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Ca.s.sio lies?

CLOWN. I dare not say he lies anywhere.

DESDEMONA. Why, man?

CLOWN. He's a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.

DESDEMONA. Go to! Where lodges he?

CLOWN. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie.

DESDEMONA. Can anything be made of this?

CLOWN. I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging, and say he lies here or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.

DESDEMONA. Can you inquire him out and be edified by report?

CLOWN. I will catechize the world for him; that is, make questions and by them answer.

DESDEMONA. Seek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his behalf and hope all will be well.

CLOWN. To do this is within the compa.s.s of man's wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing it. Exit.

DESDEMONA. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?

EMILIA. I know not, madam.

DESDEMONA. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse Full of crusadoes; and, but my n.o.ble Moor Is true of mind and made of no such baseness As jealous creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill thinking.

EMILIA. Is he not jealous?

DESDEMONA. Who, he? I think the sun where he was born Drew all such humors from him.

EMILIA. Look, where he comes.

DESDEMONA. I will not leave him now till Ca.s.s...o...b.. call'd to him.

Enter Oth.e.l.lo.

How is't with you, my lord?

OTh.e.l.lO. Well, my good lady. [Aside.] O, hardness to dissemble!

How do you, Desdemona?

DESDEMONA. Well, my good lord.

OTh.e.l.lO. Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.

DESDEMONA. It yet has felt no age nor known no sorrow.

OTh.e.l.lO. 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.

DESDEMONA. You may, indeed, say so; For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

OTh.e.l.lO. A liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands; But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

DESDEMONA. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.

OTh.e.l.lO. What promise, chuck?

DESDEMONA. I have sent to bid Ca.s.sio come speak with you.

OTh.e.l.lO. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me; Lend me thy handkerchief.

DESDEMONA. Here, my lord.

OTh.e.l.lO. That which I gave you.

DESDEMONA. I have it not about me.

OTh.e.l.lO. Not?

DESDEMONA. No, faith, my lord.

OTh.e.l.lO. That's 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 loathed 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 on't; Make it a darling like your precious eye; To lose't or give't away were such perdition As nothing else could match.

DESDEMONA. Is't possible?

OTh.e.l.lO. 'Tis true; there's magic in the web of it.

A sibyl, that had number'd in the world The sun to course two hundred compa.s.ses, In her prophetic fury sew'd the work; The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk, And it was dyed in mummy which the skillful Conserved of maiden's hearts.

DESDEMONA. Indeed! is't true?

OTh.e.l.lO. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.

DESDEMONA. Then would to G.o.d that I had never seen't!

OTh.e.l.lO. Ha! wherefore?

DESDEMONA. Why do you speak so startingly and rash?

OTh.e.l.lO. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out o' the way?

DESDEMONA. Heaven bless us!

OTh.e.l.lO. Say you?

DESDEMONA. It is not lost; but what an if it were?

OTh.e.l.lO. How?

DESDEMONA. I say, it is not lost.

OTh.e.l.lO. Fetch't, let me see it.

DESDEMONA. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.

This is a trick to put me from my suit.