Iago. My Friend is dead: 'Tis done at your Request. But let her liue
Oth. Damne her lewde Minx: O damne her, damne her. Come go with me a-part, I will withdraw To furnish me with some swift meanes of death For the faire Diuell. Now art thou my Lieutenant
Iago. I am your owne for euer.
Exeunt.
Scaena Quarta.
Enter Desdemona, aemilia, and Clown.
Des. Do you know Sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lyes? Clow. I dare not say he lies any where
Des. Why man? Clo. He's a Soldier, and for me to say a Souldier lyes, 'tis stabbing
Des. Go too: where lodges he? Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tel you where I lye
Des. Can any thing be made of this? Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for mee to deuise a lodging, and say he lies heere, or he lies there, were to lye in mine owne throat
Des. Can you enquire him out? and be edified by report? Clo. I will Catechize the world for him, that is, make Questions, and by them answer
Des. Seeke him, bidde him come hither: tell him, I haue moou'd my Lord on his behalfe, and hope all will be well
Clo. To do this, is within the compasse of mans Wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing it.
Exit Clo.
Des. Where should I loose the Handkerchiefe, aemilia? Aemil. I know not Madam
Des. Beleeue me, I had rather haue lost my purse Full of Cruzadoes. And but my Noble Moore Is true of minde, and made of no such basenesse, As iealious Creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill-thinking. Aemil. Is he not iealious? Des. Who, he? I thinke the Sun where he was borne, Drew all such humors from him. Aemil. Looke where he comes. Enter Othello.
Des. I will not leaue him now, till Cassio be Call'd to him. How is't with you, my Lord? Oth. Well my good Lady. Oh hardnes to dissemble! How do you, Desdemona? Des. Well, my good Lord
Oth. Giue me your hand. This hand is moist, my Lady
Des. It hath felt no age, nor knowne no sorrow
Oth. This argues fruitfulnesse, and liberall heart: Hot, hot, and moyst. This hand of yours requires A sequester from Liberty: Fasting, and Prayer, Much Castigation, Exercise deuout, For heere's a yong, and sweating Diuell heere That commonly rebels: 'Tis a good hand, A franke one
Des. You may (indeed) say so: For 'twas that hand that gaue away my heart
Oth. A liberall hand. The hearts of old, gaue hands: But our new Heraldry is hands, not hearts
Des. I cannot speake of this: Come, now your promise
Oth. What promise, Chucke? Des. I haue sent to bid Cassio come speake with you
Oth. I haue a salt and sorry Rhewme offends me: Lend me thy Handkerchiefe
Des. Heere my Lord
Oth. That which I gaue you
Des. I haue it not about me
Oth. Not? Des. No indeed, my Lord
Oth. That's a fault: That Handkerchiefe Did an aegyptian to my Mother giue: She was a Charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it, 'T would make her Amiable, and subdue my Father Intirely to her loue: But if she lost it, Or made a Guift of it, my Fathers eye Should hold her loathed, and his Spirits should hunt After new Fancies. She dying, gaue it me, And bid me (when my Fate would haue me Wiu'd) To giue it her. I did so; and take heede on't, Make it a Darling, like your precious eye: To loose't, or giue't away, were such perdition, As nothing else could match