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.

Did an Egyptian to my mother give:

She was a charmer,1 and could almost read

The thoughts of people: she told her, while she kept it,

'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father Intirely 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 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 died 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

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.

Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind mis

gives.

Des. Come, come;

You'll never meet a more sufficient man.

Oth. The handkerchief,

Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Emi. '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 hus-
band.

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,
Intirely honor: I would not be delay'd.

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,1 as in humor alter'd.

So help me, every spirit sanctified,

As I have spoken for you all my best;

And stood within the blank of his displeasure,2
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?

Emi.

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

Puff'd 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.

state,

Des. I pr'ythee, do so.-Something, sure, of [Exit Iago. Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice,3 Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,Hath puddled his clear spirit; and, in such cases Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,

1 In features.

2 Within the shot of his anger. • Some treason which has not taken effect.

Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so: For let our finger ache, and it indues

Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense

As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was (unhandsome warrior as I am)

Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;

But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness,

And he's indited falsely.

Emi. 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. Emi. But jealous souls will not be answer'd 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!

Emi. Lady, amen.

Des. I will go seek him.-Cassio, walk here

about:

If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,

Ard seek to effect it to my uttermost.
Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.