Othello, Act 3, Scene 3

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

Be sure of this, good Cassio: I will do everything I can on your behalf.

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

Please do, 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 a good, honest man. Have no fear, Cassio: I will get my husband and you back on the friendly terms you used to be on.

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. Thank you. You love my husband. You have known him a long time; and be quite sure that his coldness toward you will go no further than the distance that policy 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 might either last so long, or live on such thin and watery fare, or keep renewing itself out of new circumstances, that, with me away and my post filled by someone else, my general will forget my love 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 post. Be certain of this: if I promise my friendship, I carry it out down to the last detail. My husband will get no rest; I'll keep him awake until he gives in, and talk him past all patience. His bed will feel like a schoolroom, his dining table like a confessional. I'll mix Cassio's request into everything he does. So cheer up, Cassio, because the one pleading for you would die rather than abandon your case.

Madam, here comes my lord.

Madam, here comes my lord.

Madam, I’ll take my leave.

Madam, I'll go now.

Why, stay, and hear me speak.

No, stay and listen to me speak.

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

Not now, madam. I am very uncomfortable, in no state to serve my own interests.

Well, do your discretion.

All right, 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 would sneak off looking so guilty when he saw 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 man who has a request, a man who is wasting away under your disfavour.

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 with you or power to sway you, make peace with him right now. Because if he isn't a man who genuinely loves you, a man whose mistake came from not knowing better and not from scheming, then I can't read an honest face at all. Please call him back.

Went he hence now?

Did he just leave here?

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; and so humbled that he has left some of his distress with me to share with him. Dear love, call him back.

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.

All the sooner, sweet, 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 midday, 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 officers at the fortress.

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 midday, or Tuesday night, or Wednesday morning. Please name the time, but don't let it be more than three days away. Honestly, he's sorry for what he did; and besides, his offence, by ordinary reasoning — except that, as people say, war has to make examples even of its best men — is hardly enough of a fault to deserve a private reprimand. When may he come? Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul what you could ask me that I would refuse, or hesitate and stammer over like this. What? Michael Cassio, who came along when you were courting me, and who so many times, when I have spoken critically of you, has taken your side — and I have to work this hard to get him back in 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'll refuse you nothing.

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 isn't a favour. It's as if I were begging you to wear your gloves, or to eat nourishing food, or to keep yourself warm, or asking you to do something for your own particular good. No, when I have a request in which I really mean to test your love, it will be something with real weight and difficulty to it, 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'll refuse you nothing. In return, I beg you, grant me this: leave me alone for a little while.

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

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

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

Goodbye, my Desdemona. I'll come to you at once.

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

Come along, Emilia. Follow your own inclinations. Whatever you choose to be, I am obedient.

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

Wonderful creature! Let 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, the whole way through. Why do you ask?

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

Only to settle a thought of mine. Nothing worse than that.

Why of thy thought, Iago?

Why a thought of yours, 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 acted as go-between for 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 my words back to me, as if there were some monster in his mind too horrible to be shown. You do mean something. Just now I heard you say you didn't like it, when Cassio left my wife. What was it you didn't like? And when I told you he was in my confidence all through my courtship, you cried, "Really?" and drew your brows together in a frown, as if you had locked up some horrible idea in your brain. If you love me, show me what you're thinking.

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 hints, coming up out of a heart that feeling cannot control.

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

As for Michael Cassio, I would swear that 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 should be what they appear to be; or, if they aren't, I wish they could look like nothing at all.

Certain, men should be what they seem.

Certainly, men should 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 more in this than that. 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 duty, I'm not obliged to do what even slaves are free to refuse. Speak out my thoughts? Why, suppose they are vile and false. Where is the palace that foul things never break into sometimes? Who has a heart so pure that no filthy suspicions hold court sessions in it, 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's being wronged and 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 be wrong in what I guess, because I admit it is the curse of my nature to pry into wrongdoing, and my suspiciousness invents faults that don't exist — I beg that your wisdom would take no notice of a man whose ideas are so faulty, and would not build yourself trouble out of his random and unreliable observations. It would not be for your peace of mind or your good, nor for my honour as a man, my honesty, or my 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 reputation in man and 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 of owners. But the man who steals my good name from me robs me of something that doesn't make him any richer and leaves 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 couldn't, even if my heart were in your hand, and you shall not while it stays 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 makes a mockery of the meat it feeds on. The betrayed husband who is sure of his fate and doesn't love the woman who wrongs him lives in happiness. But oh, what damned minutes he counts off who adores her, yet fears, suspects, yet loves deeply!

O misery!

Oh, what 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!

To be poor and contented is to be rich, rich enough. But limitless riches are as bare as winter to the man who is always afraid he will be poor. Good heaven, protect the souls of all my kind 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 say this? Do you think I would make my life one long jealousy, forever following the changes of the moon with new suspicions? No. Once I'm in doubt I'm settled at once. Trade me for a goat when I turn the business of my soul over to such puffed-up, inflated guesses as the one you're implying. It doesn't make me jealous to be told my wife is beautiful, eats well, loves company, speaks freely, sings, plays music and dances well. Where there is virtue, all these things are more virtuous still. Nor will I draw from my own poor merits the smallest fear or worry that she will turn away from me, for she had eyes, and she chose me. No, Iago, I'll see before I fear; when I fear, I'll get proof; and once it's proved, there's nothing more but 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, for now I'll have grounds to show the love and duty I owe you more openly. So, since it is my duty, take this from me. I'm not speaking of proof yet. Watch your wife; observe her closely with Cassio. Keep your eye like that — neither jealous nor unsuspecting. I would not have your generous, noble nature taken advantage of because of your 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 is not to leave the thing undone, but to keep it hidden.

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 then, there you are. A girl who so young could put on such a show, closing her father's eyes up tight as oak, so that he thought it was witchcraft. But I'm much to blame. I humbly beg your pardon for loving you too much.

I am bound to thee for ever.

I'm in your debt 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 remember that what I've said comes from my love for you. But I do see you're upset. I must ask you not to stretch my words into anything coarser or wider than mere suspicion.

I will not.

I will not.

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 produce a vile result that I never intended. Cassio is my good 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!

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

And yet, how nature erring from itself—

And yet, when nature strays 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 — turning down so many proposed matches with men of her own country, her own colour, and her own rank, which is what we see nature inclines to in everything. Ugh! In such a choice one can smell a desire that is thoroughly rotten, a foul mismatching, unnatural thoughts. But forgive me: I'm not, in laying this down, speaking specifically about her, though I may be afraid that her desire, falling back to her better judgement, may come to compare you with the men of her own country, and possibly regret her choice.

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, tell me more. Set your wife to watch her. Leave me, Iago.

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

[Going.] My lord, I'll leave you.

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

Why did I marry? This honest man certainly 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 examine this matter no further. Leave it to time. Though it's right that Cassio should get his post back, since he certainly performs it with great ability, still, if you'd be willing to keep him at a distance for a while, you will learn something about him and his methods from that. Notice whether your lady presses for his reinstatement with any strong or insistent urging. A great deal will show itself in that. In the meantime, let me be considered too anxious in my fears — as I have good reason to be afraid I am — and think her innocent. I beg your honour to do so.

Fear not my government.

Don't worry about my self-control.

I once more take my leave.

I'll 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 exceedingly honest, and with a shrewd mind he knows all the ways of human behaviour. If I prove she is a wild hawk, though her straps were tied to my own heartstrings, I'd whistle her off and let her fly downwind to hunt for herself. Perhaps because I am black, and lack the smooth conversational manners that courtiers have, or because I've slipped down into the valley of old age — though that's not much — she is gone, I am betrayed, and my only comfort must be to hate her. Oh, the 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 foul air of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for other men's use. Yet this is the plague of great men; they have no more privilege in this than the lowest do. It is destiny, not to be escaped, like death. This horned plague is fated for us from the moment we come to life. Desdemona is coming. If she is false, oh, then heaven makes a mockery of 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.

I'm at 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.

Truly, 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 aren't 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 headstrong husband has begged me a hundred times to steal it. But she loves the gift 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 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?

Well now? What are you doing here on your own?

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 enough 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 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 fall by accident, and, seizing the chance since I was there, 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 are you going to do with it, that you've been so insistent about getting me to 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 room and let him find it. Trifles as light as air are, to a jealous man, proofs as strong as Holy Scripture. This may accomplish something. The Moor is already changing under my poison: dangerous ideas are poisons by their very nature, which at first are barely 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 opium, nor mandrake, nor all the sleep-inducing drugs in the world will ever cure 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.

Come now, general, what's this? 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.

Get away! Go! You've stretched me on the torture rack. I swear it's better to be deeply deceived than to know just a little of it.

How now, my lord?

What's the matter, 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 awareness did I have of her stolen hours of lust? I didn't see it, didn't suspect it, it did me no harm. I slept well the next night, was carefree and cheerful; I found no trace of Cassio's kisses on her lips. A man who is robbed, but doesn't miss what was taken — let him not know about 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 army, the ditch-diggers and all, had enjoyed her sweet body, as long as I knew nothing of it. Oh, now, forever, goodbye to peace of mind! Goodbye to contentment! Goodbye to the plumed troops and the great wars that make ambition into a virtue! Oh, goodbye, goodbye to the neighing warhorse and the shrill trumpet, the heart-rousing drum, the piercing fife, the royal banner, and all the splendour, pride, show and ceremony of glorious war! And you, deadly cannons, whose harsh throats imitate the immortal Jove's terrifying thunder, goodbye! Othello's career is finished!

Is’t possible, my lord?

Is this 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, you had better prove that my love is a whore. Be certain of it. Give me the proof of my own eyes, or, by the value of a man's eternal soul, you would have been better off born a dog than to 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!

Make me see it, or at the very least prove it so that the proof has no hinge or loop to hang a fear 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 horrors; do deeds to make heaven weep and all the earth appalled; for 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 of God! Oh, heaven protect me! Are you a man? Have you a soul, or any reason? God be with you. Take back my position. — Oh, I'm a miserable fool, to live only to turn my honesty into a fault! 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 produces such injury.

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 clever instead, since 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 chaste, and think she is not. I think you are honest, and think you are not. I'll have some proof: her reputation, which was as pure as the face of Dian, is now grimed and black as my own face. If there are ropes or knives, poison or fire, or waters to drown in, I won't put up with this. I wish I were certain!

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, that you're being devoured by passion. I regret that I ever raised it with you. You want to be certain?

Would? Nay, I will.

Want? 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? How made certain, my lord? Would you stand there as a spectator, staring stupidly, and watch her 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 spectacle. Damn them, then, if they ever let any human eyes see them share a pillow other than their own! What then? What now? What am I to say? Where is your certainty to come from? It's impossible that you should see this, even if they were as lustful as goats, as hot as monkeys, as wild as wolves in heat, and as grossly stupid as ignorance made drunk. But still I say, if accusation and strong circumstances that 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 vivid, concrete reason that 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 task, but since I've gone this far in the matter, spurred to it by foolish honesty and love, I'll continue. I shared a bed with Cassio recently, and being kept awake by a raging toothache, I couldn't sleep. There are some men so loose-tongued in their souls that in their sleep they mutter their private business. Cassio is one of that kind: in his sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona, let us be careful, let us hide our love." And then, sir, he would grip and squeeze 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 harsh, well-grounded fear, even if it is only a dream.

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

And it may help to strengthen other proofs that are thin on their own.

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've seen nothing actually done yet; she may still be chaste. Just tell me this: haven't you sometimes seen a handkerchief embroidered 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.

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 such a handkerchief — and 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 is that one, or any that belonged to her, it testifies 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 wretch had forty thousand lives! One is too small, too feeble 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, from your hollow hell! Surrender, love, your crown and the throne in my heart to tyrannical hatred! Swell up, my breast, with your cargo, for it is made of poisonous snakes' tongues!

Yet be content.

Still, calm yourself.

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 Black Sea, whose icy current and driving course never feels the ebb turning back, but presses straight on to the Sea of Marmara and the Dardanelles; just so my bloody thoughts, at their violent pace, shall never look back, never ebb into gentle love, until a vast and all-embracing revenge swallows them up. Now, by that marble sky up there, with all the reverence due to a sacred vow [He kneels.], I here commit 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.] Bear witness, you eternally burning lights above, you elements that surround us on every side: bear witness that here Iago hands over the work of his mind, his hands, his heart, to the service of wronged Othello! Let him command, and obeying him shall be an act of pity in me, no matter how bloody the business.

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 with generous acceptance, and I'll put you to the test immediately. Within the next three days, let me hear you say that Cassio is no longer alive.

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

My friend is dead. It's done, since you ask it. 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, come aside with me; I'll go off to arrange some quick means of death for that beautiful devil. Now you are my lieutenant.

I am your own for ever.

I am yours for ever.