Shakespeare's First Folio Part 629

If she be false, Heauen mock'd it selfe: Ile not beleeue't

Des. How now, my deere Oth.e.l.lo?

Your dinner, and the generous Islanders By you inuited, do attend your presence

Oth. I am too blame

Des. Why do you speake so faintly?

Are you not well?

Oth. I haue a paine vpon my Forehead, heere

Des. Why that's with watching, 'twill away againe.

Let me but binde it hard, within this houre It will be well

Oth. Your Napkin is too little: Let it alone: Come, Ile go in with you.

Enter.

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well.

Aemil. I am glad I haue found this Napkin: This was her first remembrance from the Moore, My wayward Husband hath a hundred times Woo'd me to steale it. But she so loues the Token, (For he coniur'd her, she should euer keepe it) That she reserues it euermore about her, To kisse, and talke too. Ile haue the worke tane out, And giu't Iago: what he will do with it Heauen knowes, not I: I nothing, but to please his Fantasie.

Enter Iago.

Iago. How now? What do you heere alone?

Aemil. Do not you chide: I haue a thing for you

Iago. You haue a thing for me?

It is a common thing- Aemil. Hah?

Iago. To haue a foolish wife.

Aemil. Oh, is that all? What will you giue me now For that same Handkerchiefe

Iago. What Handkerchiefe?

Aemil. What Handkerchiefe?

Why that the Moore first gaue to Desdemona, That which so often you did bid me steale

Iago. Hast stolne it from her?

Aemil. No: but she let it drop by negligence, And to th' aduantage, I being heere, took't vp: Looke, heere 'tis

Iago. A good wench, giue it me.

Aemil. What will you do with't, that you haue bene so earnest to haue me filch it?

Iago. Why, what is that to you?

Aemil. If it be not for some purpose of import, Giu't me againe. Poore Lady, shee'l run mad When she shall lacke it

Iago. Be not acknowne on't: I haue vse for it. Go, leaue me.

Exit aemil.

I will in Ca.s.sio's Lodging loose this Napkin, And let him finde it. Trifles light as ayre, Are to the iealious, confirmations strong, As proofes of holy Writ. This may do something.

The Moore already changes with my poyson: Dangerous conceites, are in their Natures poysons, Which at the first are sca.r.s.e found to distaste: But with a little acte vpon the blood, Burne like the Mines of Sulphure. I did say so.

Enter Oth.e.l.lo.

Looke where he comes: Not Poppy, nor Mandragora, Nor all the drowsie Syrrups of the world Shall euer medicine thee to that sweete sleepe Which thou owd'st yesterday

Oth. Ha, ha, false to mee?

Iago. Why how now Generall? No more of that

Oth. Auant, be gone: Thou hast set me on the Racke: I sweare 'tis better to be much abus'd, Then but to know't a little

Iago. How now, my Lord?

Oth. What sense had I, in her stolne houres of l.u.s.t?

I saw't not, thought it not: it harm'd not me: I slept the next night well, fed well, was free, and merrie.

I found not Ca.s.sio's kisses on her Lippes: He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolne, Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all

Iago. I am sorry to heare this?

Oth. I had beene happy, if the generall Campe, Pyoners and all, had tasted her sweet Body, So I had nothing knowne. Oh now, for euer Farewell the Tranquill minde; farewell Content; Farewell the plumed Troopes, and the bigge Warres, That makes Ambition, Vertue! Oh farewell, Farewell the neighing Steed, and the shrill Trumpe, The Spirit-stirring Drum, th' Eare-piercing Fife, The Royall Banner, and all Qualitie, Pride, Pompe, and Circ.u.mstance of glorious Warre: And O you mortall Engines, whose rude throates Th' immortall Ioues dread Clamours, counterfet, Farewell: Oth.e.l.lo's Occupation's gone

Iago. Is't possible my Lord?

Oth. Villaine, be sure thou proue my Loue a Wh.o.r.e; Be sure of it: Giue me the Occular proofe, Or by the worth of mine eternall Soule, Thou had'st bin better haue bin borne a Dog Then answer my wak'd wrath

Iago. Is't come to this?

Oth. Make me to see't: or (at the least) so proue it, That the probation beare no Hindge, nor Loope, To hang a doubt on: Or woe vpon thy life

Iago. My n.o.ble Lord

Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Neuer pray more: Abandon all remorse On Horrors head, Horrors acc.u.mulate: Do deeds to make Heauen weepe, all Earth amaz'd; For nothing canst thou to d.a.m.nation adde, Greater then that

Iago. O Grace! O Heauen forgiue me!

Are you a Man? Haue you a Soule? or Sense?

G.o.d buy you: take mine Office. Oh wretched Foole, That lou'st to make thine Honesty, a Vice!

Oh monstrous world! Take note, take note (O World) To be direct and honest, is not safe.

I thanke you for this profit, and from hence Ile loue no Friend, sith Loue breeds such offence

Oth. Nay stay: thou should'st be honest

Iago. I should be wise; for Honestie's a Foole, And looses that it workes for

Oth. By the World, I thinke my Wife be honest, and thinke she is not: I thinke that thou art iust, and thinke thou art not: Ile haue some proofe. My name that was as fresh As Dians Visage, is now begrim'd and blacke As mine owne face. If there be Cords, or Kniues, Poyson, or Fire, or suffocating streames, Ile not indure it. Would I were satisfied

Iago. I see you are eaten vp with Pa.s.sion: I do repent me, that I put it to you.

You would be satisfied?

Oth. Would? Nay, and I will

Iago. And may: but how? How satisfied, my Lord?

Would you the super-vision grossely gape on?

Behold her top'd?

Oth. Death, and d.a.m.nation. Oh!

Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I thinke, To bring them to that Prospect: d.a.m.ne them then, If euer mortall eyes do see them boulster More then their owne. What then? How then?

What shall I say? Where's Satisfaction?

It is impossible you should see this, Were they as prime as Goates, as hot as Monkeyes, As salt as Wolues in pride, and Fooles as grosse As Ignorance, made drunke. But yet, I say, If imputation, and strong circ.u.mstances, Which leade directly to the doore of Truth, Will giue you satisfaction, you might haue't

Oth. Giue me a liuing reason she's disloyall