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Emil. Never, my lord.
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.
Re-enter EMILIA, wilh DESDEMONA.
Pray, chuck, come hither.
Let me see your eyes ; Look in
What horrible fancy's this?
[Exit EMILI. Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speecr
I understand a fury in your words,
Oth. Why, what art thou ?
Your wife, my lord; your true
Come, swear it, damn thyself; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 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 ?
Des. Alas, the heavy day !--Why do you weep?
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 time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at, 0!0!
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well :
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,
By heaven, you do me wrong.
No, as I am a christian : If to preserve this vessel for my lord,
5 Treasured up.
From any other foul unlawful touch,
Oth. What, not a whore?
No, as I shall be saved.
I cry you mercy, then; I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, That married with Othello.-You, mistress,
That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
your pains ; I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.
[Erit. Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?
Des. 'Faith, half asleep.
Why, with my lord, madam.
He that is yours, sweet lady,
Emilia; I cannot weep; nor answer I have none, But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night Lay on my bed my wedding sheets,-remember ;And call thy husband hither.
Here is a change, indeed!
[Exit. Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. How have I been behav'd, that he might stick The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse ?
Re-enter EMILIA, with IAGO. Iago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is it
with you? Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young
What's the matter, lady?
Des. Am I that name, Iago ?
What name, fair lady?
Emil. He call’d her, whore; a beggar, in his drink, Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.
Iago. Why did he so?
Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches,
Beshrew him for it!
6 His drab.