Now art thou my lieutenant.

IAGO.

I am your own for ever.

 

Exeunt.

 

 

Scene IV

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown.

 

DES. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?

CLO. I dare not say he lies any where.

DES. Why, man?

CLO. He's a soldier, and for me to say a soldier lies, 'tis stabbing.

DES. Go to! where lodges he?

CLO. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie.

DES. Can any thing be made of this?

CLO. I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging and say he lies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.

DES. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report?

CLO. I will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions, and by them answer.

DES. Seek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have mov'd my lord on his behalf, and hope all will be well.

CLO. To do this is within the compass of man's wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing it.

 

Exit Clown.

 

DES.

Where should I lose the handkerchief, Emilia?

EMIL.

I know not, madam.

DES.

Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse

Full of crusadoes; and but my noble Moor

Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness

As jealious creatures are, it were enough

To put him to ill thinking.

EMIL.

Is he not jealious?

DES.

Who, he? I think the sun where he was born

Drew all such humors from him.

EMIL.

Look where he comes.

 

Enter Othello.

 

DES.

I will not leave him now till Cassio

Be call'd to him. – How is't with you, my lord?

OTH.

Well, my good lady.

 

[Aside.]

O, hardness to dissemble! –

How do you, Desdemona?

DES.

Well, my good lord.

OTH.

Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.

DES.

It [yet] hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.

OTH.

This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart;

Hot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires

A sequester from liberty: fasting and prayer,

Much castigation, exercise devout,

For here's a young and sweating devil here

That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,

A frank one.

DES.

You may, indeed, say so;

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

OTH.

A liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands;

But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

DES.

I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.

OTH.

What promise, chuck?

DES.

I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.

OTH.

I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me;

Lend me thy handkerchief.

DES.

Here, my lord.

OTH.

That which I gave you.

DES.

I have it not about me.

OTH.

Not?

DES.

No, [faith], my lord.

OTH.

That's a fault. That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;

She was a charmer, and could almost read

The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,

'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father

Entirely to her love; but if she lost it,

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye

Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt

After new fancies. She, dying, gave it me,

And bid me, when my fate would have me wiv'd,

To give it her. I did so; and take heed on't,

Make it a darling like your precious eye.

To lose't or give't away were such perdition

As nothing else could match.