Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things, in a false disloyal knave,

Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just, They are close denotements, working from the That passion cannot rule.



Good name in man or woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls; [nothing; Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he, that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.


This fellow's of exceeding honesty,

And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings: If I do prove her haggard',
Though that her jesses† were my dear heart-strings,
I'd whistle her off, and let down the wind,
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black;
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have:-Or, for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years;-yet that's not much;-
She's gone; I am abus'd; and my relief

Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love,
For others' uses.

* A species of hawk, also a term of reproach applied to a


+Straps of leather by which a hawk is held on the fist. Men of intrigue.


Trifles, light as air,

Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.


Iago. Look, where he comes ! [Enter OTHELLO.]
Not poppy, nor mandragora*,

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,

Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst† yesterday.

Oth. To me?

Ha ha! false to me?

Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of that.
Oth. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the

I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd,

Than but to know 't a little.


How now, my lord?



Oth. What sense had 1 of her stolen hours of
I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me :
I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.
Iago. I am sorry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known: O now, for ever,
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,

* The mandrake has a soporific quality. + Possessedst. The vilest of the camp. Pioneers were generally degraded soldiers.

That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!

Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner; and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!
Iago. Is it possible?-My lord,

prove my

love a whore;

Oth. Villain, be sure thou
Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof;

[Taking him by the Throat.

Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul,
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog,
Than answer my wak'd wrath.
Is it come to this?
Oth. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so prove
That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop,

To hang a doubt on; or, woe upon thy life!

Iago. My noble lord


Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me,
Never pray more: abandon all remorse*;
On horror's head horrors accumulate:

Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd,
For nothing canst thou to damnation add,
Greater than that.

Iago. O grace! O heaven defend me! Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense?— God be wi' you; take mine office.-O wretched fool, That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!

O monstrous world! take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest, is not safe.

I thank you for this profit, and, from hence, I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence. *All tenderness, all pity.

Oth. Nay, stay:-Thou shouldst be honest. Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool, And loses that it works for.


By the world,

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not;
I'll have some proof: Her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,

I'll not endure it.-'Would, I were satisfied!

Oth. 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 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.


Is it possible?

Oth. 'Tis true: there's magic in the web of it: A sibyl that had number'd in the world

The sun to make two hundred compasses,

In her prophetic 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.


What! keep a week away? seven days and nights? Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours, More tedious than the dial eight score times? O weary reckoning!




What hath he said?

Iago. 'Faith, that he did,-I know not what he

Oth. What, what?


Iago. Lie


With her?



With her, on her; what you will. Oth. Lie with her! lie on her!-We say, lie on her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's fulHandkerchief,-confessions,-handkerchief. To confess, and be hanged for his labour*. -First, to be hanged, and then to confess: I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion, without some instruction. It is not words, that shake me thus:-Pish!-Noses, ears, and lips: Is it possible?-Confess!-Handkerchief! O devil![Falls in a Trance.


A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman! Iago. Nay, you must forget that.

Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned * A proverbial saying.

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