Oth. Pr'ythee, no more: let him come when he

will;

I will deny thee nothing.

Des.
Why, this is not a boon :
"Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
Or feed on norishing dishes, or keep you warm;
Or sue to you to do peculiar profit

To your own person. Nay, when I have a suit,
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,
It shall be full of poize1 and difficulty,

And fearful to be granted.

Oth. I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this; To leave me but a little to myself.

Des. Shall I deny you? no. Farewell, my lord. Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I will come to thee straight.

Des. Emilia, come.-Be it as your fancies teach

you;

Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

[Exit, with Emilia.

Oth. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,

But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,

Chaos is come again.

Iago. My noble lord,

Oth.

What dost thou say, Iago?

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my

lady,

1 Weight.

Know of your love?

Oth. He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask?

Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought,

No farther harm.

Oth.

Why of thy thought, Iago?

Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted

with her.

Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft.
Iago. Indeed?

Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed.-Discern'st thou aught

By heaven, he echoes me,

As if there were some monster in his thought

Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean some

thing:

I heard thee say but now,-thou likedst not that,
When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like?
And, when I told thee-he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst,

deed!'

And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me.

In

Show me thy thought.

I think thou dost;

Lago. My lord, you know I love you. Oth. And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them

breath ;

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

heart,

That passion cannot rule.

Iago.

For Michael Cassio,

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest.

Oth. I think so too.

Iago. Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none ! Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. Iago. Why, then, I think Cassio 's an honest

man.

Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this :

I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of

thoughts

The worst of words.

Iago.

Good my lord, pardon me:

Though I am bound to every act of duty,

I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.

Utter my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and

false;

As where's that palace, whereinto foul things

Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure,
But some uncleanly apprehensions

Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit
With meditations lawful?

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and makest his

ear

A stranger to thy thoughts.

I do beseech you,—

Iago.
Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess;

As, I confess, it is my nature's plague

To spy into abuses; and oft my jealousy

Shapes faults that are not;-I entreat you then,
From one that so imperfectly conjects,

You'd take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble
Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
It were not for your quiet nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.

Oth.

What dost thou mean?

Iago. Good name, in man and woman, dear my

lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something,

nothing;

"Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou

sands:

But he that filches from me my good name,

1 Courts of inquiry.

2 For conjectures.

Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought.

Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;

Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

Oth. Ha! Iago.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy:

It is the green-eyed monster, which doth make
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er,
Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly
loves!

Oth. O misery!

Iago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough; But riches, fineless,1 is as poor as winter,

To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!

Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon

With fresh suspicions? No: to be once in doubt,
Is-once to be resolved. Exchange me for a goat,
When I shall turn the business of my soul

To such exsufflicate 2 and blown surmises,