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Oth. Some of your function, mistress;
[To Emilia, 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
Oth. Why, what art thou?
Your wife, my lord; your true And loyal wife.
Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils them
selves 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
you weep? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord? If, haply, you my father do
father do suspect, An instrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me; if
have lost him, Why, I have lost him too. Oth.
Had it pleas'd heaven.
To try me with affliction; had he rain'd
there! Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin; Ay, there, look grim as hell!
Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the sham
bles, 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, Made to write whore upon? What committed! Committed!-O thou publick commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks, , That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but speak thy deeds.—What committed!
By heaven, you do me wrong.
No, as I am a christian:
Oth. What, not a whore?
No, as I shall be sav'd.
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, And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, you! We have done our course; there's
your pains; I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.
[Exit. Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman con
ceive?How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?
Des. 'Faith, half a-sleep.
Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my
Why, with my lord, madam.
He that is yours, sweet lady.
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 lago. 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? Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, As true hearts cannot bear.
Des. Am I that name, Iago?
What name, fair lady? Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was.
Emil. He call’d her, whore; a beggar, in his
Iago. Why did he so?
Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches,
Des. It is my wretched fortune.
Beshrew him for it!
Nay, heaven doth know.
Iago. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.
bones! Why should he call her, whore? who keeps her
company? What place? what time? what form? what likeli
hood? The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave, Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow:O, heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold; And put in every honest hand a whip, To lash the rascal naked through the world, Even from the east to the west! Iago.
Speak within door!