May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low

As hell's from heaven! If I were now to die,
"Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

As if there were some monster in his thought

Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something:
I heard thee say but now, thou likedst not that,
When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?
And, when I told thee he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, Indeed?
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth.

I think thou dost;

And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath,

Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:

For such things, in a false disloyal knave,

Are tricks of custom; but, in a man that's just,
They are close denotements, working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.

REPUTATION.

Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

[nothing

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something "Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands But he, that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed.

THE TORTURES OF JEALOUSY

Iago. Look, where he comes !

[Enter Othello

Not poppy, nor mandragora,*

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owed'st† yesterday.

Oth. To me?

Ha ha! false to me?

Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of that. Oth. 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?

Oth. What sense had Ì of her stolen hours of lust?

I saw it 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:

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.
Iago. I am sorry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers 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,

The mandrake has a soporific quality.

Possessed'st.

N

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 dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell, Othello's occupation's gone!
Iago. Is it possible!-My lord

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof;

[Taking him by the throat.

Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul,
Thou hadst better have been born a dog,
Than answer my waked wrath.

HIS PATHETIC UPBRAIDING OF DESDEMONA.

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double-damn'd, Swear-thou art honest.

Des.

Heaven doth truly know it. Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell.

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom?

false?

Oth. O Desdemona! away! away! away!

How am I

Des. Alas, the heavy day!-Why do you weep? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?

If, haply, you my father do suspect,

An instrument of this your calling back,

Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him,
Why, I have lost him too.

Oth.

Had it pleased Heaven
To try me with affliction; had He rain'd
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head;
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips;

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience; but (alas!) to make me
A fix'd figure, for the hand of Scorn

To point his slow unmoving finger at,-
O! O!

Yet could I bear that too; well, very well :

But there, where I have garner'd up* my heart;
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!

Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads

To knot and gender in!-Turn thy complexion there!
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim ;
Ay, there, look grim as hell!

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,

Treasured up.