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Oth. A liberal hand: The hearts, of old, gave

hands; But our new heraldry is—hands, not hearts. Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now your

promise. Oth. What promise, chuck? 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.
Des.

Here, my lord.
Oth. That which I gave you.
Des.

I have it not about me.
Oth. Not?
Des. No, indeed, my lord.
Oth.

That is a fault: 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, Des.

Is it possible?

Oth. 'Tis true: there's magick in the web of it: A sibyl, that had number'd in the world The sun to make two hundred compasses, In her prophetick 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. Des.

Indeed! is't true? Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to't well. Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never

seen it.

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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

way?
Des. Heaven bless us !
Oth.

Say you?
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 receiv'd again. Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind

misgives.
Des. Come, come;
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.

Oth. The handkerchief, -
Des.

I

pray, talk me of Cassio. Oth. The handkerchief,—

A man that, all his time,

Des.

G

Oth.

Hath founded his good fortune on your love;
Shar'd dangers with you;-
Oth.

The handkerchief, -
Des. In sooth,
You are to blame.
Away!

[Exit Othello. Emil.

Is not this man jealous? Des. I ne'er saw this before. Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Emil. '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 husband.

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,
Entirely honour; I would not be delay’d:
If my offence be of such mortal kind,
That neither service past, nor present sorrows,
Nor purpos'd 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 forc'd 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 favour, as in humour, 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,
For

my free speech! You must a-while 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?
Emil.

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. Des. I pr’ythee, do so.—Something, sure, of state,“

[Erit Iago. Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice, Made démonstrable here in Cyprus to him, Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, in such cases, Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so; For let our finger ache, and it indues Our other healthful members ey'n to that sense Of pain: Nay, we must think, men are not gods; Nor of them look for such observances

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.
Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you

think;
And on conception, nor no jealous toy,
Concerning you.

Des. Alas, the day! I never gave him cause.

Emil. 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! Emil. Lady, amen. Des. I will go seek him.-Cassio walk here

about:
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek to effect it to my uttermost.
Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.

Enter Bianca,

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio!
Cas.

What make you from home: How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? l'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. What! keep a week away? seven days and nights?

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