Enter Othello, and Iago.
Iago. Will you thinke so?
Oth. Thinke so, Iago?
Iago. What, to kisse in priuate?
Oth. An vnauthoriz'd kisse?
Iago. Or to be naked with her Friend in bed,
An houre, or more, not meaning any harme?
Oth. Naked in bed (Iago) and not meane harme?
It is hypocrisie against the Diuell:
They that meane vertuously, and yet do so,
The Diuell their vertue tempts, and they tempt Heauen
Iago. If they do nothing, 'tis a Veniall slip:
But if I giue my wife a Handkerchiefe
Oth. What then?
Iago. Why then 'tis hers (my Lord) and being hers,
She may (I thinke) bestow't on any man
Oth. She is Protectresse of her honor too:
May she giue that?
Iago. Her honor is an Essence that's not seene,
They haue it very oft, that haue it not.
But for the Handkerchiefe
Othe. By heauen, I would most gladly haue forgot it:
Thou saidst (oh, it comes ore my memorie,
As doth the Rauen o're the infectious house:
Boading to all) he had my Handkerchiefe
Iago . I: what of that?
Othe. That's not so good now
Iag. What if I had said, I had seene him do you wrong?
Or heard him say (as Knaues be such abroad,
Who hauing by their owne importunate suit,
Or voluntary dotage of some Mistris,
Conuinced or supply'd them, cannot chuse
But they must blab.)
Oth. Hath he said any thing?
Iago. He hath (my Lord) but be you well assur'd,
No more then he'le vn-sweare
Oth. What hath he said?
Iago. Why, that he did: I know not what he did
Othe. What? What?
Oth. With her?
Iago. With her? On her: what you will
Othe. Lye with her? lye on her? We say lye on her,
when they be-lye-her. Lye with her: that's fullsome:
Handkerchiefe: Confessions: Handkerchiefe. To confesse,
and be hang'd for his labour. First, to be hang'd,
and then to confesse: I tremble at it. Nature would not
inuest her selfe in such shadowing passion, without some
Instruction. It is not words that shakes me thus, (pish)
Noses, Eares, and Lippes: is't possible. Confesse? Handkerchiefe?
Falls in a Traunce.
Iago. Worke on,
My Medicine workes. Thus credulous Fooles are caught,
And many worthy, and chast Dames euen thus,
(All guiltlesse) meete reproach: what hoa? My Lord?
My Lord, I say: Othello.
How now Cassio?
Cas. What's the matter?
Iago. My Lord is falne into an Epilepsie,
This is his second Fit: he had one yesterday
Cas. Rub him about the Temples
Iago. The Lethargie must haue his quyet course:
If not, he foames at mouth: and by and by
Breakes out to sauage madnesse. Looke, he stirres:
Do you withdraw your selfe a little while,
He will recouer straight: when he is gone,
I would on great occasion, speake with you.
How is it Generall? Haue you not hurt your head?
Othe. Dost thou mocke me?
Iago. I mocke you not, by Heauen:
Would you would beare your Fortune like a Man
Othe. A Horned man's a Monster, and a Beast
Iago. Ther's many a Beast then in a populous Citty,
And many a ciuill Monster
Othe. Did he confesse it?
Iago. Good Sir, be a man:
Thinke euery bearded fellow that's but yoak'd
May draw with you. There's Millions now aliue,
That nightly lye in those vnproper beds,
Which they dare sweare peculiar. Your case is better.
Oh, 'tis the spight of hell, the Fiends Arch-mock,
To lip a wanton in a secure Cowch;
And to suppose her chast. No, let me know,
And knowing what I am, I know what she shallbe
Oth. Oh, thou art wise: 'tis certaine
Iago. Stand you a while apart,
Confine your selfe but in a patient List,
Whil'st you were heere, o're-whelmed with your griefe
(A passion most resulting such a man)
Cassio came hither: I shifted him away,
And layd good scuses vpon your Extasie,
Bad him anon returne: and heere speake with me,
The which he promis'd. Do but encaue your selfe,
And marke the Fleeres, the Gybes, and notable Scornes
That dwell in euery Region of his face.
For I will make him tell the Tale anew;
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
He hath, and is againe to cope your wife.
I say, but marke his gesture: marry Patience,
Or I shall say y'are all in all in Spleene,
And nothing of a man
Othe. Do'st thou heare, Iago,
I will be found most cunning in my Patience:
But (do'st thou heare) most bloody
Iago. That's not amisse,
But yet keepe time in all: will you withdraw?
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
A Huswife that by selling her desires
Buyes her selfe Bread, and Cloath. It is a Creature
That dotes on Cassio, (as 'tis the Strumpets plague
To be-guile many, and be be-guil'd by one)
He, when he heares of her, cannot restraine
From the excesse of Laughter. Heere he comes.
As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad:
And his vnbookish Ielousie must conserue
Poore Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behauiours
Quite in the wrong. How do you Lieutenant?
Cas. The worser, that you giue me the addition,
Whose want euen killes me
Iago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on't:
Now, if this Suit lay in Bianca's dowre,
How quickely should you speed?
Cas. Alas poore Caitiffe
Oth. Looke how he laughes already
Iago. I neuer knew woman loue man so
Cas. Alas poore Rogue, I thinke indeed she loues me
Oth. Now he denies it faintly: and laughes it out
Iago. Do you heare Cassio?
Oth. Now he importunes him
To tell it o're: go too, well said, well said
Iago. She giues it out, that you shall marry her.
Do you intend it?
Cas. Ha, ha, ha
Oth. Do ye triumph, Romaine? do you triumph?
Cas. I marry. What? A customer; prythee beare
Some Charitie to my wit, do not thinke it
So vnwholesome. Ha, ha, ha
Oth. So, so, so, so: they laugh, that winnes
Iago. Why the cry goes, that you marry her
Cas. Prythee say true
Iago. I am a very Villaine else
Oth. Haue you scoar'd me? Well
Cas. This is the Monkeys owne giuing out:
She is perswaded I will marry her
Out of her owne loue & flattery, not out of my promise
Oth. Iago becomes me: now he begins the story
Cassio. She was heere euen now: she haunts me in euery
place. I was the other day talking on the Seabanke
with certaine Venetians, and thither comes the
Bauble, and falls me thus about my neck
Oth. Crying oh deere Cassio, as it were: his iesture imports
Cassio. So hangs, and lolls, and weepes vpon me:
So shakes, and pulls me. Ha, ha, ha
Oth. Now he tells how she pluckt him to my Chamber:
oh, I see that nose of yours, but not that dogge, I
shall throw it to
Cassio. Well, I must leaue her companie
Iago. Before me: looke where she comes.
Cas. 'Tis such another Fitchew: marry a perfum'd one?
What do you meane by this haunting of me?
Bian. Let the diuell, and his dam haunt you: what
did you meane by that same Handkerchiefe, you gaue
me euen now? I was a fine Foole to take it: I must take
out the worke? A likely piece of worke, that you should
finde it in your Chamber, and know not who left it there.
This is some Minxes token, & I must take out the worke?
There, giue it your Hobbey-horse, wheresoeuer you had
it, Ile take out no worke on't
Cassio. How now, my sweete Bianca?
How now? How now?
Othe. By Heauen, that should be my Handkerchiefe
Bian. If you'le come to supper to night you may, if
you will not come when you are next prepar'd for.
Iago. After her: after her
Cas. I must, shee'l rayle in the streets else
Iago. Will you sup there?
Cassio. Yes, I intend so
Iago. Well, I may chance to see you: for I would very
faine speake with you
Cas. Prythee come: will you?
Iago. Go too; say no more
Oth. How shall I murther him, Iago
Iago. Did you perceiue how he laugh'd at his vice?
Oth. Oh, Iago
Iago. And did you see the Handkerchiefe?
Oth. Was that mine?
Iago. Yours by this hand: and to see how he prizes
the foolish woman your wife: she gaue it him and, he
hath giu'n it his whore
Oth. I would haue him nine yeeres a killing: A fine woman, a faire woman, a sweete woman?
Iago. Nay, you must forget that
Othello. I, let her rot and perish, and be damn'd to night, for she shall not liue. No, my heart is turn'd to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world hath not a sweeter Creature: she might lye by an Emperours side, and command him Taskes
Iago. Nay, that's not your way
Othe. Hang her, I do but say what she is: so delicate
with her Needle: an admirable Musitian. Oh she will
sing the Sauagenesse out of a Beare: of so high and plenteous
wit, and inuention?
Iago. She's the worse for all this
Othe. Oh, a thousand, a thousand times:
And then of so gentle a condition?
Iago. I too gentle
Othe. Nay that's certaine:
But yet the pitty of it, Iago: oh Iago, the pitty of it
Iago. If you are so fond ouer her iniquitie: giue her
pattent to offend, for if it touch not you, it comes neere
Oth. I will chop her into Messes: Cuckold me?
Iago. Oh, 'tis foule in her
Oth. With mine Officer?
Iago. That's fouler
Othe. Get me some poyson, Iago, this night. Ile not expostulate with her: least her body and beautie vnprouide my mind againe: this night Iago
Iago. Do it not with poyson, strangle her in her bed,
Euen the bed she hath contaminated
Oth. Good, good:
The Iustice of it pleases: very good
Iago. And for Cassio, let me be his vndertaker:
You shall heare more by midnight.
Enter Lodouico, Desdemona, and Attendants.
Othe. Excellent good: What Trumpet is that same?
Iago. I warrant something from Venice,
'Tis Lodouico, this, comes from the Duke.
See, your wife's with him
Lodo. Saue you worthy Generall
Othe. With all my heart Sir
Lod. The Duke, and the Senators of Venice greet you
Othe. I kisse the Instrument of their pleasures
Des. And what's the newes, good cozen Lodouico
Iago. I am very glad to see you Signior:
Welcome to Cyprus
Lod. I thanke you: how do's Lieutenant Cassio?
Iago. Liues Sir,
Des. Cozen, there's falne betweene him, & my Lord,
An vnkind breach: but you shall make all well
Othe. Are you sure of that?
Des. My Lord?
Othe. This faile you not to do, as you will-
Lod. He did not call: he's busie in the paper,
Is there deuision 'twixt my Lord, and Cassio?
Des. A most vnhappy one: I would do much
T' attone, them, for the loue I beare to Cassio
Oth. Fire, and brimestone
Des. My Lord
Oth. Are you wise?
Des. What is he angrie?
Lod. May be the Letter mou'd him.
For as I thinke, they do command him home,
Deputing Cassio in his Gouernment
Des. Trust me, I am glad on't
Des. My Lord?
Othe. I am glad to see you mad
Des. Why, sweete Othello?
Des. I haue not deseru'd this
Lod. My Lord, this would not be beleeu'd in Venice,
Though I should sweare I saw't. 'Tis very much,
Make her amends: she weepes
Othe. Oh diuell, diuell:
If that the Earth could teeme with womans teares,
Each drop she falls, would proue a Crocodile:
Out of my sight
Des. I will not stay to offend you
Lod. Truely obedient Lady:
I do beseech your Lordship call her backe
Des. My Lord
Othe. What would you with her, Sir?
Lod. Who I, my Lord?
Othe. I, you did wish, that I would make her turne:
Sir, she can turne, and turne: and yet go on
And turne againe. And she can weepe, Sir, weepe.
And she's obedient: as you say obedient.
Very obedient: proceed you in your teares.
Concerning this Sir, (oh well-painted passion)
I am commanded home: get you away:
Ile send for you anon. Sir I obey the Mandate,
And will returne to Venice. Hence, auaunt:
Cassio shall haue my Place. And Sir, to night
I do entreat, that we may sup together.
You are welcome Sir to Cyprus.
Goates, and Monkeys.
Lod. Is this the Noble Moore, whom our full Senate
Call all in all sufficient? Is this the Nature
Whom Passion could not shake? Whose solid vertue
The shot of Accident, nor dart of Chance
Could neither graze, nor pierce?
Iago. He is much chang'd
Lod. Are his wits safe? Is he not light of Braine?
Iago. He's that he is: I may not breath my censure.
What he might be: if what he might, he is not,
I would to heauen he were
Lod. What? Strike his wife?
Iago. 'Faith that was not so well: yet would I knew
That stroke would proue the worst
Lod. Is it his vse?
Or did the Letters, worke vpon his blood,
And new create his fault?
Iago. Alas, alas:
It is not honestie in me to speake
What I haue seene, and knowne. You shall obserue him,
And his owne courses will denote him so,
That I may saue my speech: do but go after
And marke how he continues
Lod. I am sorry that I am deceiu'd in him.
Enter Othello and aemilia.
Othe. You haue seene nothing then?
Aemil. Nor euer heard: nor euer did suspect
Othe. Yes, you haue seene Cassio, and she together
Aemi. But then I saw no harme: and then I heard,
Each syllable that breath made vp betweene them
Othe. What? Did they neuer whisper?
Aemil. Neuer my Lord
Othe. Nor send you out o'th' way?
Othe. To fetch her Fan, her Gloues, her Mask, nor nothing?
Aemil. Neuer my Lord
Othe. That's strange.
Aemil. I durst (my Lord) to wager, she is honest:
Lay downe my Soule at stake: If you thinke other,
Remoue your thought. It doth abuse your bosome:
If any wretch haue put this in your head,
Let Heauen requit it with the Serpents curse,
For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy. The purest of their Wiues
Is foule as Slander
Othe. Bid her come hither: go.
She saies enough: yet she's a simple Baud
That cannot say as much. This is a subtile Whore:
A Closset Locke and Key of Villanous Secrets,
And yet she'le kneele, and pray: I haue seene her do't.
Enter Desdemona, and aemilia.
Des. My Lord, what is your will?
Othe. Pray you Chucke come hither
Des. What is your pleasure?
Oth. Let me see your eyes: looke in my face
Des. What horrible Fancie's this?
Othe. Some of your Function Mistris:
Leaue Procreants alone, and shut the doore:
Cough, or cry hem; if any body come:
Your Mystery, your Mystery: May dispatch.
Des. Vpon my knee, what doth your speech import?
I vnderstand a Fury in your words
Othe. Why? What art thou?
Des. Your wife my Lord: your true and loyall wife
Othello. Come sweare it: damne thy selfe, least
being like one of Heauen, the diuells themselues should
feare to ceaze thee. Therefore be double damn'd: sweare
thou art honest
Des. Heauen doth truely know it
Othe. Heauen truely knowes, that thou art false as hell
Des. To whom my Lord?
With whom? How am I false?
Othe. Ah Desdemon, away, away, away
Des. Alas the heauy day: why do you weepe?
Am I the motiue of these teares my Lord?
If happely you my Father do suspect,
An Instrument of this your calling backe,
Lay not your blame on me: if you haue lost him,
I haue lost him too
Othe. Had it pleas'd Heauen,
To try me with Affliction, had they rain'd
All kind of Sores, and Shames on my bare-head:
Steep'd me in pouertie to the very lippes.
Giuen to Captiuitie, me, and my vtmost hopes,
I should haue found in some place of my Soule
A drop of patience. But alas, to make me
The fixed Figure for the time of Scorne,
To point his slow, and mouing finger at.
Yet could I beare that too, well, very well:
But there where I haue garnerd vp my heart,
Where either I must liue, or beare no life,
The Fountaine from the which my currant runnes,
Or else dries vp: to be discarded thence,
Or keepe it as a Cesterne, for foule Toades
To knot and gender in. Turne thy complexion there:
Patience, thou young and Rose-lip'd Cherubin,
I heere looke grim as hell
Des. I hope my Noble Lord esteemes me honest
Othe. Oh I, as Sommer Flyes are in the Shambles,
That quicken euen with blowing. Oh thou weed:
Who art so louely faire, and smell'st so sweete,
That the Sense akes at thee,
Would thou had'st neuer bin borne
Des. Alas, what ignorant sin haue I committed?
Othe. Was this faire Paper? This most goodly Booke
Made to write Whore vpon? What commited,
Committed? Oh, thou publicke Commoner,
I should make very Forges of my cheekes,
That would to Cynders burne vp Modestie,
Did I but speake thy deedes. What commited?
Heauen stoppes the Nose at it, and the Moone winks:
The baudy winde that kisses all it meetes,
Is hush'd within the hollow Myne of Earth
And will not hear't. What commited?
Des. By Heauen you do me wrong
Othe. Are not you a Strumpet?
Des. No, as I am a Christian.
If to preserue this vessell for my Lord,
From any other foule vnlawfull touch
Be not to be a Strumpet, I am none
Othe. What, not a Whore?
Des. No, as I shall be sau'd
Othe. Is't possible?
Des. Oh Heauen forgiue vs
Othe. I cry you mercy then.
I tooke you for that cunning Whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. You Mistris,
That haue the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keepes the gate of hell. You, you: I you.
We haue done our course: there's money for your paines:
I pray you turne the key, and keepe our counsaile.
Aemil. Alas, what do's this Gentleman conceiue?
How do you Madam? how do you my good Lady?
Des. Faith, halfe a sleepe
Aemi. Good Madam,
What's the matter with my Lord?
Des. With who?
Aemil. Why, with my Lord, Madam?
Des. Who is thy Lord?
Aemil. He that is yours, sweet Lady
Des. I haue none: do not talke to me, aemilia,
I cannot weepe: nor answeres haue I none,
But what should go by water. Prythee to night,
Lay on my bed my wedding sheetes, remember,
And call thy husband hither.
Aemil. Heere's a change indeed.
Des. 'Tis meete I should be vs'd so: very meete.
How haue I bin behau'd, that he might sticke
The small'st opinion on my least misvse?
Enter Iago, and aemilia.
Iago. What is your pleasure Madam?
How is't with you?
Des. I cannot tell: those that do teach yong Babes
Do it with gentle meanes, and easie taskes.
He might haue chid me so; for in good faith
I am a Child to chiding
Iago. What is the matter Lady?
Aemil. Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Throwne such dispight, and heauy termes vpon her
That true hearts cannot beare it
Des. Am I that name, Iago?
Iago. What name, (faire Lady?)
Des. Such as she said my Lord did say I was.
Aemil. He call'd her whore: a Begger in his drinke:
Could not haue laid such termes vpon his Callet
Iago. Why did he so?
Des. I do not know: I am sure I am none such
Iago. Do not weepe, do not weepe: alas the day.
Aemil. Hath she forsooke so many Noble Matches?
Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends?
To be call'd Whore? Would it not make one weepe?
Des. It is my wretched Fortune
Iago. Beshrew him for't:
How comes this Tricke vpon him?
Des. Nay, Heauen doth know
Aemi. I will be hang'd, if some eternall Villaine,
Some busie and insinuating Rogue,
Some cogging, cozening Slaue, to get some Office,
Haue not deuis'd this Slander: I will be hang'd else
Iago. Fie, there is no such man: it is impossible
Des. If any such there be, Heauen pardon him.
Aemil. A halter pardon him:
And hell gnaw his bones.
Why should he call her Whore?
Who keepes her companie?
What Place? What Time?
What Forme? What liklyhood?
The Moore's abus'd by some most villanous Knaue,
Some base notorious Knaue, some scuruy Fellow.
Oh Heauens, that such companions thou'd'st vnfold,
And put in euery honest hand a whip
To lash the Rascalls naked through the world,
Euen from the East to th' West
Iago. Speake within doore.
Aemil. Oh fie vpon them: some such Squire he was
That turn'd your wit, the seamy-side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moore
Iago. You are a Foole: go too
Des. Alas Iago,
What shall I do to win my Lord againe?
Good Friend, go to him: for by this light of Heauen,
I know not how I lost him. Heere I kneele:
If ere my will did trespasse 'gainst his Loue,
Either in discourse of thought, or actuall deed,
Or that mine Eyes, mine Eares, or any Sence
Delighted them: or any other Forme.
Or that I do not yet, and euer did,
And euer will, (though he do shake me off
To beggerly diuorcement) Loue him deerely,
Comfort forsweare me. Vnkindnesse may do much,
And his vnkindnesse may defeat my life,
But neuer taynt my Loue. I cannot say Whore,
It do's abhorre me now I speake the word,
To do the Act, that might the addition earne,
Not the worlds Masse of vanitie could make me
Iago. I pray you be content: 'tis but his humour:
The businesse of the State do's him offence
Des. If 'twere no other
Iago. It is but so, I warrant,
Hearke how these Instruments summon to supper:
The Messengers of Venice staies the meate,
Go in, and weepe not: all things shall be well.
Exeunt. Desdemona and aemilia.
How now Rodorigo?
Rod. I do not finde
That thou deal'st iustly with me
Iago. What in the contrarie?
Rodori. Euery day thou dafts me with some deuise
Iago, and rather, as it seemes to me now, keep'st from
me all conueniencie, then suppliest me with the least aduantage
of hope: I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor
am I yet perswaded to put vp in peace, what already I
haue foolishly suffred
Iago. Will you heare me Rodorigo?
Rodori. I haue heard too much: and your words and
Performances are no kin together
Iago. You charge me most vniustly
Rodo. With naught but truth: I haue wasted my
selfe out of my meanes. The Iewels you haue had from
me to deliuer Desdemona, would halfe haue corrupted a
Votarist. You haue told me she hath receiu'd them,
and return'd me expectations and comforts of sodaine
respect, and acquaintance, but I finde none
Iago. Well, go too: very well
Rod. Very well, go too: I cannot go too, (man) nor
'tis not very well. Nay I think it is scuruy: and begin to
finde my selfe fopt in it
Iago. Very well
Rodor. I tell you, 'tis not very well: I will make my
selfe knowne to Desdemona. If she will returne me my
Iewels, I will giue ouer my Suit, and repent my vnlawfull
solicitation. If not, assure your selfe, I will seeke
satisfaction of you
Iago. You haue said now
Rodo. I: and said nothing but what I protest intendment
Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee: and
euen from this instant do build on thee a better opinion
then euer before: giue me thy hand Rodorigo.
Thou hast taken against me a most iust exception:
but yet I protest I haue dealt most directly in thy
Rod. It hath not appeer'd
Iago. I grant indeed it hath not appeer'd: and
your suspition is not without wit and iudgement.
But Rodorigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which
I haue greater reason to beleeue now then euer (I
meane purpose, Courage, and Valour) this night
shew it. If thou the next night following enioy not
Desdemona, take me from this world with Treacherie,
and deuise Engines for my life
Rod. Well: what is it? Is it within, reason and compasse?
Iago. Sir, there is especiall Commission come from
Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place
Rod. Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona
returne againe to Venice
Iago. Oh no: he goes into Mauritania and taketh
away with him the faire Desdemona, vnlesse his abode
be lingred heere by some accident. Wherein
none can be so determinate, as the remouing of
Rod. How do you meane remouing him?
Iago. Why, by making him vncapable of Othello's
place: knocking out his braines
Rod. And that you would haue me to do
Iago. I: if you dare do your selfe a profit, and a
right. He sups to night with a Harlotry: and thither
will I go to him. He knowes not yet of his Honourable
Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which
I will fashion to fall out betweene twelue and one)
you may take him at your pleasure. I will be neere
to second your Attempt, and he shall fall betweene
vs. Come, stand not amaz'd at it, but go along with
me: I will shew you such a necessitie in his death, that
you shall thinke your selfe bound to put it on him. It
is now high supper time: and the night growes to wast.
Rod. I will heare further reason for this
Iago. And you shalbe satisfi'd.
Enter Othello, Lodouico, Desdemona, aemilia, and Atendants.
Lod. I do beseech you Sir, trouble your selfe no further
Oth. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walke
Lodoui. Madam, good night: I humbly thanke your
Des. Your Honour is most welcome
Oth. Will you walke Sir? Oh Desdemona
Des. My Lord
Othello. Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be return'd
forthwith: dismisse your Attendant there: look't
Des. I will my Lord
Aem. How goes it now? He lookes gentler then he did
Des. He saies he will returne incontinent,
And hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bid me to dismisse you
Aemi. Dismisse me?
Des. It was his bidding: therefore good aemilia,
Giue me my nightly wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.
Aemil. I, would you had neuer seene him
Des. So would not I: my loue doth so approue him,
That euen his stubbornesse, his checks, his frownes,
(Prythee vn-pin me) haue grace and fauour
Aemi. I haue laid those Sheetes you bad me on the bed
Des. All's one: good Father, how foolish are our minds?
If I do die before, prythee shrow'd me
In one of these same Sheetes.
Aemil. Come, come: you talke
Des. My Mother had a Maid call'd Barbarie,
She was in loue: and he she lou'd prou'd mad,
And did forsake her. She had a Song of Willough,
An old thing 'twas: but it express'd her Fortune,
And she dy'd singing it. That Song to night,
Will not go from my mind: I haue much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side
And sing it like poore Barbarie: prythee dispatch
Aemi. Shall I go fetch your Night-gowne?
Des. No, vn-pin me here,
This Lodouico is a proper man.
Aemil. A very handsome man
Des. He speakes well.
Aemil. I know a Lady in Venice would haue walk'd
barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip
Des. The poore Soule sat singing, by a Sicamour tree.
Sing all a greene Willough:
Her hand on her bosome her head on her knee,
Sing Willough, Willough, Willough.
The fresh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanes
Sing Willough, &c.
Her salt teares fell from her, and softned the stones,
Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by these)
Willough, Willough. (Prythee high thee: he'le come anon)
Sing all a greene Willough must be my Garland.
Let no body blame him, his scorne I approue.
(Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks?
Aemil. It's the wind
Des. I call'd my Loue false Loue: but what said he then?
Sing Willough, &c.
If I court mo women, you'le couch with mo men.
So get thee gone, good night: mine eyes do itch:
Doth that boade weeping?
Aemil. 'Tis neyther heere, nor there
Des. I haue heard it said so. O these Men, these men!
Do'st thou in conscience thinke (tell me aemilia)
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such grosse kinde?
Aemil. There be some such, no question
Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?
Aemil. Why, would not you?
Des. No, by this Heauenly light.
Aemil. Nor I neither, by this Heauenly light:
I might doo't as well i'th' darke
Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for al the world?
Aemil. The world's a huge thing:
It is a great price, for a small vice
Des. Introth, I thinke thou would'st not.
Aemil. Introth I thinke I should, and vndoo't when
I had done. Marry, I would not doe such a thing for a
ioynt Ring, nor for measures of Lawne, nor for Gownes,
Petticoats, nor Caps, nor any petty exhibition. But for
all the whole world: why, who would not make her husband
a Cuckold, to make him a Monarch? I should venture
Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong For the whole world.
Aemil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world;
and hauing the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in
your owne world, and you might quickly make it right
Des. I do not thinke there is any such woman.
Aemil. Yes, a dozen: and as many to'th' vantage, as
would store the world they plaid for.
But I do thinke it is their Husbands faults
If Wiues do fall: (Say, that they slacke their duties,
And powre our Treasures into forraigne laps;
Or else breake out in peeuish Iealousies,
Throwing restraint vpon vs: Or say they strike vs,
Or scant our former hauing in despight)
Why we haue galles: and though we haue some Grace,
Yet haue we some Reuenge. Let Husbands know,
Their wiues haue sense like them: They see, and smell,
And haue their Palats both for sweet, and sowre,
As Husbands haue. What is it that they do,
When they change vs for others? Is it Sport?
I thinke it is: and doth Affection breed it?
I thinke it doth. Is't Frailty that thus erres?
It is so too. And haue not we Affections?
Desires for Sport? and Frailty, as men haue?
Then let them vse vs well: else let them know,
The illes we do, their illes instruct vs so
Des. Good night, good night:
Heauen me such vses send,
Not to picke bad, from bad; but by bad, mend.
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This page references:
- Othello Act IV "slap scene" (Fishbourne version)
- Reference Othello Act 4 - Scene 1
- Reference to Othello Act 4 - Scene 1
- Othello Act IV - Gotye - Somebody That I Used To Know
- Othello Act IV - Nick Jonas - Jealous
- Othello Act IV - We Kill The Batman
- Othello Act IV - The Shining - Jack Torrance Being Told To Kill His Family
- Othello Act IV - Desdemonda