Othello By William Shakespeare Act III: Scene 4

OTHELLO.
Say you?

DESDEMONA.
It is not lost; but what an if it were?

OTHELLO.
How!

DESDEMONA.
I say, it is not lost.

OTHELLO.
Fetch't, let me see't.

DESDEMONA.
Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
This is a trick to put me from my suit:
Pray you, let Cassio be receiv'd again.

OTHELLO.
Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind misgives.

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

OTHELLO.
The handkerchief!

DESDEMONA.
I pray, talk me of Cassio.

OTHELLO.
The handkerchief!

DESDEMONA.
A man that all his time
Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
Shar'd dangers with you, —

OTHELLO.
The handkerchief!

DESDEMONA.
In sooth, you are to blame.

OTHELLO.
Away!

[Exit.]

EMILIA.
Is not this man jealous?

DESDEMONA.
I ne'er saw this before.
Sure there's some wonder in this handkerchief;
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

EMILIA.
'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 Cassio and Iago.]

IAGO.
There is no other way; 'tis she must do't:
And, lo, the happiness! go and importune her.

DESDEMONA.
How now, good Cassio! what's the news with you?

CASSIO.
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 office of my heart,
Entirely honour: I would not be delay'd.
If my offence be of such mortal kind
That nor my 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.

DESDEMONA.
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 awhile 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?

EMILIA.
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.

DESDEMONA.
I pr'ythee, do so.

[Exit Iago.]

Something sure of state, —
Either from Venice or some unhatch'd practice
Made demonstrable 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 even to that sense
Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods,
Nor of them look for such observancy
As fits 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 indicted falsely.

EMILIA.
Pray heaven it be state matters, as you think,
And no conception nor no jealous toy
Concerning you.

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

EMILIA.
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.

DESDEMONA.
Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind!

EMILIA.
Lady, amen.

DESDEMONA.
I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk hereabout:
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek to effect it to my uttermost.

CASSIO.
I humbly thank your ladyship.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.]

[Enter Bianca.]

BIANCA.
Save you, friend Cassio!

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

BIANCA.
And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
What, keep a week away? seven days and nights?
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours,
More tedious than the dial eight score times?
O weary reckoning!

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