[Exit]

OTHELLO This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,
Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,
I'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind,
To pray at fortune. Haply, for I am black
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have, or for I am declined
Into the vale of years,--yet that's not much--
She's gone. I am abused; and my relief
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others' uses.  Desdemona comes:

[Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA]

If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!
I'll not believe't.

[Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA]

If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!
I'll not believe't.

DESDEMONA How now, my dear Othello!
Your dinner, and the generous islanders
By you invited, do attend your presence.

OTHELLO I am to blame.

DESDEMONA Why do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well?

OTHELLO I have a pain upon my forehead here.

DESDEMONA 'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

OTHELLO Your napkin is too little:

[He puts the handkerchief from him; and it drops]

Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

DESDEMONA I am very sorry that you are not well.

[Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA]

EMILIA I am glad I have found this napkin:
This was her first remembrance from the Moor:
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,
For he conjured her she should ever keep it,
That she reserves it evermore about her
To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
And give't Iago: what he will do with it
Heaven knows, not I.

[Re-enter Iago]

IAGO How now! what do you here alone?

EMILIA Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

IAGO A thing for me? it is a common thing—

EMILIA Ha!

IAGO To have a foolish wife.

EMILIA O, is that all? What will you give me now
For the same handkerchief?

IAGO What handkerchief?

EMILIA What handkerchief?
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

IAGO Hast stol'n it from her?

EMILIA No, 'faith; she let it drop by negligence.
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up.
Look, here it is.

IAGO A good wench; give it me.

EMILIA What will you do with 't, that you have been
so earnest
To have me filch it?

IAGO [Snatching it] Why, what's that to you?

EMILIA If it be not for some purpose of import,
Give't me again: poor lady, she'll run mad
When she shall lack it.

IAGO Be not acknown on 't; I have use for it.
Go, leave me.

[Exit EMILIA]

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,
And let him find it. this may do something.
The Moor already changes with my poison:

[Re-enter OTHELLO]

Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday.

[Re-enter OTHELLO]

Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday.

OTHELLO Ha! ha! false to me?

IAGO Why, how now, general! no more of that.

OTHELLO Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the rack:
I swear 'tis better to be much abused
Than but to know't a little.

IAGO How now, my lord!

OTHELLO What sense had I of her stol'n hours of lust?
I saw't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:

IAGO I am sorry to hear this.

OTHELLO I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dead clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!