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SCENE 11.

A room in the castle.

Enter OTHELLO and EMILIA.

Oth. You have seen nothing then?

Emi. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. Emi. But then I saw no harm; and then I heard Each syllable, that breath made up between them. Oth. What, did they never whisper?

Emi.

Never, my lord.

Oth. Nor send you out o' the way?

Emi.

Never.

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor

nothing?

Emi. Never, my lord.

Oth.

That's strange.

Emi. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest; Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other, Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom. If any wretch hath put this in your 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 villanous secrets:

And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen her

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Leave procreants alone, and shut the door;
Cough, or cry hem, if any body come:

Your mystery, your mystery!-nay, despatch.

[Exit Emilia.

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im

port?

I understand a fury in your words,

But not the words.

Oth. Why, what art thou?

Des.

And loyal wife.

Oth.

Your wife, my lord; your true

Come, swear it; damn thyself;

Lest. being like one of heaven, the devils them

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Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as

hell.

Des. To whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?

Oth. O Desdemona! away! away! away!

Des. Alas, the heavy day!-Why do you weep? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?

If, haply, you my father do suspect

An instrument of this your calling back,

Lay not your blame on me: if you have lost

him,

Why, I have lost him too.

Oth.

Had it pleased 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 ;-
O! O!

Yet could I bear that too; well, very well.

But there, where I have garner'd1 up my heart:
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs.
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence;
Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads

1 Treasured.

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