I cry you mercy then:
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
That married with Othello. — You, mistress,
That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the gate of hell!
You, you, ay, you!
We have done our course; there's money for your pains:
I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.
Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? —
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?
Faith, half asleep.
Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?
Why, with my lord, madam.
Who is thy lord?
He that is yours, sweet lady.
I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia;
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none
But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember; —
And call thy husband hither.
Here's a change indeed!
'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet.
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick
The small'st opinion on my least misuse?
[Re-enter Emilia with Iago.]
What is your pleasure, madam? How is't with you?
I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks:
He might have chid me so; for in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.
What's the matter, lady?
Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
As true hearts cannot bear.
Am I that name, Iago?
What name, fair lady?
Such as she says my lord did say I was.
He call'd her whore: a beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.
Why did he so?
I do not know; I am sure I am none such.
Do not weep, do not weep: — alas the day!
Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father, and her country, and her friends,
To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep?
It is my wretched fortune.
Beshrew him for't!
How comes this trick upon him?
Nay, heaven doth know.
I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Some busy and insinuating rogue,
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
Have not devis'd this slander; I'll be hang'd else.
Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.
If any such there be, heaven pardon him!
A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company?
What place? what time? what form? what likelihood?
The Moor's abused by some most villainous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow: —
O heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascals naked through the world
Even from the east to the west!
Speak within door.
O, fie upon them! some such squire he was
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.
You are a fool; go to.
What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him; for by this light of heaven,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel: —
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will, though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement, — love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I cannot say "whore," —
It does abhor me now I speak the word;
To do the act that might the addition earn
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour:
The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.
If 'twere no other, —
'Tis but so, I warrant.
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper!
The messengers of Venice stay the meat:
Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well.
[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.]
How now, Roderigo!
I do not find that thou dealest justly with me.
What in the contrary?