Othello, Act 3, Scene 3

Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf.

Rest assured, good Cassio, I will do everything in my power on your behalf.

Good madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband As if the cause were his.

Please do, good madam. I promise you it upsets my husband as if the trouble were his own.

O, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were.

Oh, he's an honest fellow. Have no doubt, Cassio, I'll have you and my lord as friendly with each other as you ever were.

Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He’s never anything but your true servant.

Generous madam, whatever becomes of Michael Cassio, he will never be anything but your loyal servant.

I know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord. You have known him long; and be you well assur’d He shall in strangeness stand no farther off Than in a politic distance.

I know it. I thank you. You love my lord. You have known him a long time; and be quite sure that his coldness will keep him no further away from you than his position requires.

Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent, and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service.

Yes, but, lady, that policy may either go on so long, or live on such thin and watery food, or keep renewing itself out of chance events, that, with me being away and my post filled by someone else, my general will forget my devotion and my service.

Do not doubt that. Before Emilia here I give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it To the last article. My lord shall never rest, I’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I’ll intermingle everything he does With Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio, For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away.

Don't be afraid of that. Here in front of Emilia I guarantee you your place. Be certain of this: if I promise friendship, I carry it out down to the last detail. My lord shall get no rest; I'll keep him awake until he's tame, and talk until his patience is gone. His bed will seem a schoolroom, his dinner table a confessional. I'll mix Cassio's request into everything he does. So be cheerful, Cassio, because the one pleading for you would sooner die than abandon your case.

Madam, here comes my lord.

Madam, here comes my lord.

Madam, I’ll take my leave.

Madam, I'll be going.

Why, stay, and hear me speak.

No, stay, and listen to me speak to him.

Madam, not now. I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes.

Not now, madam. I'm very uncomfortable, in no state to serve my own cause.

Well, do your discretion.

Well, do as you think best.

Ha, I like not that.

Ha, I don't like that.

What dost thou say?

What are you saying?

Nothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.

Nothing, my lord; or if—I don't know what.

Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?

Wasn't that Cassio leaving my wife?

Cassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming.

Cassio, my lord? No, surely not, I can't believe he'd slip away looking so guilty at the sight of you coming.

I do believe ’twas he.

I'm sure it was him.

How now, my lord? I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure.

How are you, my lord? I've been talking here with a petitioner, a man who is wasting away under your disapproval.

Who is’t you mean?

Who do you mean?

Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgement in an honest face. I prithee call him back.

Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. My good lord, if I have any favour or power to move you, be reconciled with him now; because if he isn't a man who truly loves you, a man who went wrong out of ignorance and not out of deliberate scheming, then I know nothing about reading an honest face. Please call him back.

Went he hence now?

Did he leave here just now?

Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

Yes, truly; so humbled that he has left part of his sorrow with me, for me to suffer along with him. Call him back, my dear love.

Not now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.

Not now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.

But shall’t be shortly?

But will it be soon?

The sooner, sweet, for you.

The sooner, sweetheart, for your sake.

Shall’t be tonight at supper?

Will it be tonight at supper?

No, not tonight.

No, not tonight.

Tomorrow dinner then?

Tomorrow at dinner, then?

I shall not dine at home; I meet the captains at the citadel.

I won't be eating at home; I'm meeting the captains at the citadel.

Why then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn, On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn. I prithee name the time, but let it not Exceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason, (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best) is not almost a fault To incur a private check. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta’en your part, to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much.

Then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morning, or Tuesday at noon, or at night; or Wednesday morning. Please name the time, but don't let it be more than three days away. Honestly, he's sorry; and besides, his offence, by ordinary reasoning — except that, they say, the army has to make examples of even its best men — hardly amounts to a fault deserving a private reprimand. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul what you could ask me that I would refuse, or hesitate over like this. What? Michael Cassio, who came with you when you were courting me, and who so many times, when I'd spoken critically of you, took your side — and it takes all this effort to get him back into favour! Believe me, I could do a great deal.

Prithee no more. Let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing.

Please, no more. Let him come whenever he likes; I won't refuse you anything.

Why, this is not a boon; ’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight, And fearful to be granted.

Why, this is no favour at all; it's as if I were begging you to wear your gloves, or eat nourishing food, or keep yourself warm, or pleading with you to do something specially good for your own person. No, when I have a request in which I really mean to test your love, it will be heavy and hard to weigh, and frightening to grant.

I will deny thee nothing. Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself.

I won't refuse you anything. In return, I beg you, grant me this: leave me alone for a little while.

Shall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord.

Shall I refuse you? No. Goodbye, my lord.

Farewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight.

Goodbye, my Desdemona. I'll come to you right away.

Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you. Whate’er you be, I am obedient.

Come along, Emilia. Do as your moods direct you. Whatever you are, I obey.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! And when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

Marvellous creature! May damnation take my soul if I don't love you! And when I stop loving you, chaos will have returned.

My noble lord,—

My noble lord—

What dost thou say, Iago?

What are you saying, Iago?

Did Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady, Know of your love?

When you were courting my lady, did Michael Cassio know about your love?

He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?

He did, from beginning to end. Why do you ask?

But for a satisfaction of my thought. No further harm.

Only to settle something in my mind. Nothing worse than that.

Why of thy thought, Iago?

Why in your mind, Iago?

I did not think he had been acquainted with her.

I didn't think he had known her.

O yes, and went between us very oft.

Oh yes, and he carried messages between us very often.

Indeed?

Really?

Indeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that? Is he not honest?

Really? Yes, really. Do you see something in that? Isn't he honest?

Honest, my lord?

Honest, my lord?

Honest? ay, honest.

Honest? Yes, honest.

My lord, for aught I know.

As far as I know, my lord.

What dost thou think?

What do you think?

Think, my lord?

Think, my lord?

Think, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something. I heard thee say even now, thou lik’st 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.

"Think, my lord?" By heaven, he repeats me, as if there were some monster in his thoughts too hideous to be shown. You do mean something. Just now I heard you say you didn't like that, when Cassio left my wife. What was it you didn't like? And when I told you he was in my confidence throughout my whole courtship, you cried, "Really?" And you drew your brows together and knotted them, as if at that moment you had locked up in your brain some horrible idea. If you love me, show me your thought.

My lord, you know I love you.

My lord, you know I love you.

I think thou dost; And for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st 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’re close dilations, working from the heart, That passion cannot rule.

I believe you do; and because I know you are full of love and honesty, and weigh your words before you let them out, these hesitations of yours frighten me all the more. In a lying, disloyal scoundrel such things are just his usual tricks; but in an honest man they are hidden accusations coming up out of a heart that passion cannot control.

For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

As for Michael Cassio, I dare to swear I think he is honest.

I think so too.

I think so too.

Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none!

Men ought to be what they appear to be; and as for those who aren't, I wish they might appear to be nothing at all!

Certain, men should be what they seem.

Certainly, men ought to be what they appear to be.

Why then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.

Well then, I think Cassio is an honest man.

Nay, yet there’s more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.

No, there's still more in this. Please, speak to me as you speak to your own thoughts, as you turn them over, and give your worst thoughts the worst words.

Good my lord, pardon me. Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false: As where’s that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit With meditations lawful?

My good lord, excuse me. Though I'm obliged to perform every act of duty, I'm not obliged to do what even slaves are free not to do. Say my thoughts out loud? Why, suppose they are vile and false. Where is the palace that foul things don't sometimes break into? Whose heart is so pure that no filthy suspicions hold their court sessions there, sitting in judgement alongside lawful thoughts?

Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.

You are plotting against your friend, Iago, if you believe he is being wronged and yet keep his ear a stranger to your thoughts.

I do beseech you, Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature’s plague To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy Shapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts.

I beg you — since I may well be wrong in what I guess, for I admit it is the curse of my nature to pry into wrongdoing, and my suspicion invents faults that don't exist — that your wisdom would pay no attention to a man who imagines things so imperfectly, and wouldn't build yourself any trouble out of his random and unreliable observations. It would not be good for your peace of mind or your welfare, nor for my manliness, honesty, or good sense, to let you know my thoughts.

What dost thou mean?

What do you mean?

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing; ’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.

A good name, in a man or a woman, my dear lord, is the most precious jewel of their souls. Whoever steals my purse steals rubbish. It's something and nothing; it was mine, now it's his, and it has served thousands. But the man who filches my good name from me robs me of something that doesn't make him richer, and makes me truly poor.

By heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.

By heaven, I will know your thoughts.

You cannot, if my heart were in your hand, Nor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.

You could not, even if my heart were in your hand; and you shall not, while it is in my keeping.

Ha?

What?

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But O, what damned minutes tells he o’er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

Oh, beware of jealousy, my lord. It is the green-eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds on. The deceived husband who is certain of his fate, and no longer loves the wife who wronged him, lives in happiness. But oh, what damned minutes he counts off who adores yet doubts, suspects yet loves deeply!

O misery!

Oh, misery!

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough; But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy!

A poor man who is content is rich, and rich enough. But limitless wealth is as poor as winter to the man who always fears he will become poor. Good heaven, defend the souls of all my people from jealousy!

Why, why is this? Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt Is once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous, To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt, For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago, I’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this: Away at once with love or jealousy!

Why — why do you say this? Do you think I would make my life one of jealousy, forever following the changes of the moon with new suspicions? No. Once I'm in doubt, I'll settle it at once. Trade me for a goat when I turn the business of my soul over to such windy, inflated guesses as the ones you hint at. It doesn't make me jealous to be told my wife is beautiful, has a good appetite, enjoys company, speaks freely, sings, plays music and dances well. Where there is virtue, these things are only more virtuous. Nor will I draw the smallest fear or doubt of her unfaithfulness from my own poor merits, for she had eyes, and she chose me. No, Iago, I will see before I doubt; when I doubt, I will get proof; and once it's proved, there's nothing more than this: away at once with love or with jealousy!

I am glad of it, for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure. I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t. I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown.

I'm glad of it, because now I'll have reason to show the love and duty I owe you more openly. So, since I'm bound to do it, take this from me. I'm not yet speaking of proof. Watch your wife; observe her carefully with Cassio. Keep your eye like this — neither jealous nor unsuspecting. I wouldn't want your generous and noble nature to be taken advantage of because of its own goodness. Watch out for it. I know the ways of our country well. In Venice women let heaven see the tricks they dare not show their husbands. Their idea of a clear conscience isn't to leave the thing undone, but to keep it unknown.

Dost thou say so?

Do you say so?

She did deceive her father, marrying you; And when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks, She loved them most.

She deceived her father by marrying you; and when she seemed to tremble and be afraid of your looks, she loved them most.

And so she did.

And so she did.

Why, go to then. She that so young could give out such a seeming, To seal her father’s eyes up close as oak, He thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame. I humbly do beseech you of your pardon For too much loving you.

Well, there you are, then. A girl who so young could put on such a false show, and seal her father's eyes as tight as oak, so that he thought it was witchcraft — but I'm much at fault. I humbly beg your pardon for loving you too much.

I am bound to thee for ever.

I'm indebted to you for ever.

I see this hath a little dash’d your spirits.

I see this has dampened your spirits a little.

Not a jot, not a jot.

Not in the least, not in the least.

Trust me, I fear it has. I hope you will consider what is spoke Comes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d. I am to pray you not to strain my speech To grosser issues nor to larger reach Than to suspicion.

Believe me, I'm afraid it has. I hope you'll bear in mind that what has been said comes from my love for you. But I can see you are upset. I must beg you not to stretch my words to any coarser conclusions or any further than suspicion.

I will not.

I won't.

Should you do so, my lord, My speech should fall into such vile success Which my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend. My lord, I see you’re mov’d.

If you did, my lord, my words would lead to vile results that my thoughts never aimed at. Cassio is my worthy friend. My lord, I see you are upset.

No, not much mov’d. I do not think but Desdemona’s honest.

No, not much upset. I'm sure Desdemona is faithful.

Long live she so! And long live you to think so!

May she long stay so! And may you live long to believe it!

And yet, how nature erring from itself—

And yet, how nature, straying from its own course—

Ay, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you, Not to affect many proposed matches, Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, Whereto we see in all things nature tends; Foh! One may smell in such a will most rank, Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. But pardon me: I do not in position Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear Her will, recoiling to her better judgement, May fall to match you with her country forms, And happily repent.

Yes, that's the point. For instance — to be blunt with you — her refusing all those proposed matches with men of her own country, colour and rank, which is what we see nature inclining to in everything. Ugh! In such a choice one can smell a desire that is thoroughly rank, a foul mismatching, unnatural thoughts. But forgive me: I'm not stating anything specifically about her, though I may fear that her desire, drawing back to her better judgement, may come to compare you with the men of her own country, and then regret it.

Farewell, farewell: If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.

Goodbye, goodbye. If you notice anything more, let me know more. Set your wife to watch her. Leave me, Iago.

[Going.] My lord, I take my leave.

[Going.] My lord, I'll take my leave.

Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

Why did I marry? This honest man no doubt sees and knows more, much more, than he reveals.

[Returning.] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour To scan this thing no further. Leave it to time: Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, For sure he fills it up with great ability, Yet if you please to hold him off awhile, You shall by that perceive him and his means. Note if your lady strain his entertainment With any strong or vehement importunity, Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, Let me be thought too busy in my fears (As worthy cause I have to fear I am) And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.

[Returning.] My lord, I wish I could persuade your honour to look into this thing no further. Leave it to time. Although it's right that Cassio should get his post back, since he certainly fills it with great ability, still, if you choose to keep him at a distance for a while, you'll be able to see through him and his methods that way. Notice whether your lady presses for his reinstatement with any strong or violent insistence; a great deal will be shown by that. In the meantime, let me be considered too meddlesome in my fears — as I have good reason to fear I am — and consider her innocent, I beg your honour.

Fear not my government.

Don't worry about my self-control.

I once more take my leave.

I take my leave once more.

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’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have, or for I am declin’d Into the vale of years,—yet that’s not much— She’s gone, I am abus’d, 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. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones, Prerogativ’d are they less than the base, ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death: Even then this forked plague is fated to us When we do quicken. Desdemona comes. If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! I’ll not believe’t.

This man is extraordinarily honest, and with a shrewd mind he knows all the ways of human behaviour. If I prove her to be a wild hawk, then even if the straps that held her were my own dear heartstrings, I'd whistle her off and let her fly downwind to hunt for herself. Perhaps because I am black, and don't have the smooth conversational graces that courtiers have; or because I have gone down into the valley of old age — though that's not much — she is gone, I am deceived, and my only relief must be to hate her. Oh, curse of marriage, that we can call these delicate creatures ours, and not their appetites! I would rather be a toad and live on the damp air of a dungeon than keep a corner of the thing I love for other men's use. Yet this is the plague of great men; they have less privilege than the low-born. It is a destiny that can't be avoided, like death. Even from the moment we come to life, this horned plague is fated for us. Desdemona is coming. If she is false, then oh, heaven is mocking itself! I won't believe it.

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

How are you, my dear Othello? Your dinner, and the noble islanders you invited, are waiting for you to appear.

I am to blame.

It's my fault.

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

Why do you speak so weakly? Are you unwell?

I have a pain upon my forehead here.

I have a pain here on my forehead.

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

Honestly, that comes from staying up late; it will go away again. Just let me bind it tightly, and within an hour it will be better.

Your napkin is too little;

Your handkerchief is too small.

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

Leave it. Come, I'll go in with you.

I am very sorry that you are not well.

I'm very sorry that you're not well.

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 conjur’d 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, I nothing but to please his fantasy.

I'm glad I've found this handkerchief. This was her first keepsake from the Moor. My unmanageable husband has begged me a hundred times to steal it. But she loves the keepsake so much — because he made her swear she would always keep it — that she carries it about with her constantly, to kiss it and talk to it. I'll have the embroidery pattern copied and give it to Iago. What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I; I only want to satisfy his whim.

How now? What do you here alone?

What's this? What are you doing here alone?

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

Don't scold me. I have something for you.

A thing for me? It is a common thing—

Something for me? It's a common thing—

Ha?

What?

To have a foolish wife.

To have a foolish wife.

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

Oh, is that all? What will you give me now for that handkerchief?

What handkerchief?

What handkerchief?

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

What handkerchief? Why, the one the Moor first gave to Desdemona — the one you so often told me to steal.

Hast stol’n it from her?

Have you stolen it from her?

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

No, honestly, she let it drop carelessly, and, taking my chance since I was here, I picked it up. Look, here it is.

A good wench, give it me.

Good girl — give it to me.

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

What will you do with it, that you've been so insistent about having me steal it?

[Snatching it.] Why, what’s that to you?

[Snatching it.] Why, what business is that of yours?

If it be not for some purpose of import, Give ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad When she shall lack it.

If it isn't for some important purpose, give it back to me. Poor lady, she'll go mad when she finds it missing.

Be not acknown on’t, I have use for it. Go, leave me.

Don't admit you know anything about it; I have a use for it. Go on, leave me.

I will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin, And let him find it. Trifles light as air Are to the jealous confirmations strong As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. The Moor already changes with my poison: Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, But with a little act upon the blood Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so.

I'll drop this handkerchief in Cassio's lodging and let him find it. Trifles as light as air are, to the jealous, proofs as strong as holy scripture. This may do something. The Moor is already changing under my poison: dangerous ideas are poisons by their very nature, which at first are hardly noticed as unpleasant, but once they work a little on the blood they burn like sulphur mines. I said it would be so.

Look, where he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow’dst yesterday.

Look, here he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the sleeping syrups in the world will ever medicine you back into that sweet sleep you had yesterday.

Ha! ha! false to me?

Ha! Ha! Unfaithful to me?

Why, how now, general? No more of that.

Why, what's this, general? No more of that.

Avaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack. I swear ’tis better to be much abus’d Than but to know’t a little.

Away! Get out! You have stretched me on the rack. I swear it's better to be deceived completely than to know only a little about it.

How now, my lord?

What's this, my lord?

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. He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n, Let him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all.

What did I know of her stolen hours of lust? I didn't see it, didn't think of it, it did me no harm. I slept well the next night, I was free and cheerful; I found no trace of Cassio's kisses on her lips. The man who is robbed, if he doesn't miss what was taken, let him not be told of it, and he isn't robbed at all.

I am sorry to hear this.

I'm sorry to hear this.

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 troops 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 dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!

I would have been happy if the whole camp, common diggers and all, had tasted her sweet body, so long as I knew nothing of it. Oh, now, forever, goodbye to the peaceful mind! Goodbye to contentment! Goodbye to the plumed troops and the great wars that make ambition a virtue! Oh, goodbye, goodbye to the neighing horse and the shrill trumpet, the spirit-rousing drum, the ear-piercing fife, the royal banner, and all the nobility, pride, pomp and ceremony of glorious war! And, oh you deadly cannons, whose rough throats imitate the immortal Jove's terrifying thunder, goodbye! Othello's career is finished!

Is’t possible, my lord?

Is it possible, my lord?

Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; Be sure of it. Give me the ocular proof, Or, by the worth of man’s eternal soul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog Than answer my wak’d wrath.

Villain, make sure you prove my love is a whore; be sure of it. Give me the proof of my own eyes, or, by the worth of a man's eternal soul, you would have been better off born a dog than face my roused fury.

Is’t come to this?

Has it come to this?

Make me to see’t, or at the least so prove it, That the probation bear no hinge nor loop To hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life!

Let me see it, or at the very least prove it so that the proof has no hinge or loop to hang a doubt on, or it will be misery for your life!

My noble lord,—

My noble lord—

If thou dost slander her and torture me, Never pray more. Abandon all remorse; On horror’s head horrors accumulate; Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d; For nothing canst thou to damnation add Greater than that.

If you are slandering her and torturing me, never pray again. Give up all pity; pile horrors on top of horror's head; do deeds that make heaven weep and all the earth astonished; because you can add nothing to your damnation greater than that.

O grace! O heaven defend me! Are you a man? Have you a soul or sense? God be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool, That liv’st to make thine honesty a vice! O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest is not safe. I thank you for this profit, and from hence I’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.

Oh, mercy! Oh, heaven protect me! Are you a man? Have you a soul, or any sense? God be with you. Take my post from me.—Oh, wretched fool, who live only to turn your own honesty into a vice! Oh, monstrous world! Take note, take note, world: being straightforward and honest is not safe. I thank you for this lesson, and from now on I'll love no friend, since love breeds such trouble.

Nay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest.

No, stay. You ought to be honest.

I should be wise; for honesty’s a fool, And loses that it works for.

I ought to be wise; for honesty is a fool, and loses what it works for.

By the world, I think my wife be honest, and think she is not. I think that thou art just, and think thou art not. I’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh As Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black As mine own face. If there be cords or knives, Poison or fire, or suffocating streams, I’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied!

By the world, I think my wife is faithful, and I think she isn't. I think you are honest, and I think you aren't. I'll have some proof: her name, which was as fresh as Dian's face, is now grimy and black as my own face. If there are ropes or knives, poison or fire, or drowning waters to be had, I won't put up with it. I wish I had certainty!

I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion. I do repent me that I put it to you. You would be satisfied?

I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion. I'm sorry I ever raised it with you. You want to be certain?

Would? Nay, I will.

Want to? No, I will be.

And may; but how? How satisfied, my lord? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on, Behold her topp’d?

And you can be; but how? Certain in what way, my lord? Would you, as the onlooker, stand there gaping crudely while she's mounted?

Death and damnation! O!

Death and damnation! Oh!

It were a tedious difficulty, I think, To bring them to that prospect. Damn them then, If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster More than their own! What then? How then? What shall I say? Where’s satisfaction? It is impossible you should see this, Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross As ignorance made drunk. But yet I say, If imputation and strong circumstances, Which lead directly to the door of truth, Will give you satisfaction, you may have’t.

It would be a long and difficult business, I think, to bring them to that view. Damn them, then, if any human eyes ever see them in bed together besides their own! What then? How then? What am I to say? Where's your certainty? It's impossible for you to see this, even if they were as randy as goats, as hot as monkeys, as lustful as wolves in heat, and as grossly foolish as ignorance made drunk. But still I say, if accusation and strong circumstances, which lead straight to the door of truth, will satisfy you, you can have that.

Give me a living reason she’s disloyal.

Give me a solid, living reason to believe she's unfaithful.

I do not like the office, But sith I am enter’d in this cause so far, Prick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love, I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, And being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep. There are a kind of men so loose of soul, That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs. One of this kind is Cassio: In sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;” And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard, As if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots, That grew upon my lips, then laid his leg Over my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then Cried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”

I don't like this duty, but since I've gone this far in the matter, pricked into it by foolish honesty and love, I'll go on. I shared a bed with Cassio recently, and since I was troubled by a raging tooth I couldn't sleep. There's a kind of man whose soul is so loose that in their sleep they mutter their private business. Cassio is one of this kind: in his sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona, let's be careful, let's hide our love;" and then, sir, he would grip and wring my hand, cry "Oh sweet creature!" and then kiss me hard, as if he were pulling up by the roots kisses that grew on my lips, then he laid his leg over my thigh, and sighed, and kissed, and then cried, "Cursed fate, that gave you to the Moor!"

O monstrous! monstrous!

Oh, monstrous! Monstrous!

Nay, this was but his dream.

No, this was only his dream.

But this denoted a foregone conclusion. ’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

But it pointed to something already done. It's a sharp suspicion, even if it is only a dream.

And this may help to thicken other proofs That do demonstrate thinly.

And it may help to thicken other proofs that on their own look thin.

I’ll tear her all to pieces.

I'll tear her all to pieces.

Nay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done, She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief Spotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand?

No, be sensible. We still see nothing actually done; she may still be innocent. Just tell me this: have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?

I gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift.

I gave her one like that; it was my first gift to her.

I know not that: but such a handkerchief (I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today See Cassio wipe his beard with.

I didn't know that; but a handkerchief like that — I'm sure it was your wife's — I saw Cassio wiping his beard with today.

If it be that,—

If it is that one—

If it be that, or any that was hers, It speaks against her with the other proofs.

If it's that one, or any that belonged to her, it speaks against her along with the other proofs.

O, that the slave had forty thousand lives! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge! Now do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago; All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. ’Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell! Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For ’tis of aspics’ tongues!

Oh, if only the slave had forty thousand lives! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge! Now I see it's true. Look here, Iago: all my foolish love I blow away like this to heaven. It's gone. Rise up, black vengeance, out of your hollow hell! Surrender, love, your crown and the throne in my heart to tyrannous hate! Swell, breast, with your cargo, for it is made of asps' tongues!

Yet be content.

Still, be calm.

O, blood, Iago, blood!

Oh, blood, Iago, blood!

Patience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change.

Patience, I say. Your mind may change yet.

Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels.] I here engage my words.

Never, Iago. Like the Pontic Sea, whose icy current and driving course never feels a backward ebb, but keeps straight on to the Propontic and the Hellespont; just so my bloody thoughts, with violent speed, shall never look back, never ebb into humble love, until a large and adequate revenge swallows them up. Now, by that marble sky up there, in the proper reverence of a sacred vow [He kneels.] I here pledge my words.

Do not rise yet. [Kneels.] Witness, you ever-burning lights above, You elements that clip us round about, Witness that here Iago doth give up The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What bloody business ever.

Don't get up yet. [He kneels.] Witness, you ever-burning lights above, you elements that surround and embrace us, witness that here Iago hands over the use of his brain, his hands, his heart, to the service of wronged Othello! Let him command, and obeying shall be an act of pity in me, whatever bloody business it is.

I greet thy love, Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, And will upon the instant put thee to ’t. Within these three days let me hear thee say That Cassio’s not alive.

I welcome your love, not with empty thanks, but by accepting it generously, and I'll put you to work on it this instant. Within three days let me hear you say that Cassio is not alive.

My friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request. But let her live.

My friend is dead. It's done, at your request. But let her live.

Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her! Come, go with me apart, I will withdraw To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.

Damn her, the lewd hussy! Oh, damn her, damn her! Come, go aside with me. I'll withdraw to find myself some quick means of death for the beautiful devil. Now you are my lieutenant.

I am your own for ever.

I am yours forever.