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Eight score eight hours? and lovers’ absent hours,
Pardon me, Bianca;
[Giving her Desdemona's handkerchief. Take me this work out, Bian.
O, Cassio, whence came this? This is some token from a newer friend. To the felt absence now I feel a cause; Is it come to this? Well, well. Cas.
Woman, go to! Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth, From whence you have them. You are jealous
now; That this is from some mistress, some remem
brance: No, in good troth, Bianca. Bian.
Why, whose is it? Cas. I know not, sweet: I found it in my
chamber. I like the work well; ere it be demanded, (As like enough, it will,) I'd have it copied: Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time.
Bian. Leave you! wherefore?
Cas. I do attend here on the general;
Why, I pray you?
But that you do not love me. I
pray you, bring me on the way a little; And
say, if I shall see you soon at night. Cas. 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you, For I attend here: but I'll see you soon. Bian. "Tis very good; I must be circumstanc'd.
Enter Othello and Iago.
Think so, Iago?
An unauthoriz'd kiss.
Oth. Naked a-bed, Iago, and not mean harm?
Oth. What then?
may, I think, bestow't on any man. Oth. She is protectress of her honour too; May she give that?
Iago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen; They have it very oft, that have it not: But, for the handkerchief,
Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have for
Thou said'st,-0, it comes o'er my memory,
handkerchief. Iago. Ay, what of that? Oth.
That's not so good, now.
Hath he said any thing?
What hath he said?
will. Oth. Lie with her! lie on her!-We say, lie on her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's fulsome.—Handkerchief, -confessions, handkerchief.—To confess, and be hang'd for his labour. —First, to be hang’d, and then to confess:-I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion, without some instruction. It is not words, that shake me thus:-Pish!Noses, ears, and lips:—Is it possible?- Confess!– Handkerchief!-O deyil! [Falls in a trance.
Iago. Work on, My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are
caught; And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus, All guiltless meet reproach.—What, ho! my lord !
Cas. What is the matter?
Iago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy;
Cas. Rub him about the temples.
[Exit Cassio. How is it, general? have you not hurt your head?
Oth. Dost thou mock me?
I mock you! no, by heaven: 'Would, you would bear your fortunes like a man.
Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous
Oth. Did he confess it?
Good sir, be a man; Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd, May draw with you: there's millions now alive,