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Des. My lord !
[Striking her. Des. I have not deserved this. [Venice, Lod. My lord, this would not be believed in Though I should swear I saw't. 'Tis very much; Make her amends, she weeps.
Oth. Oh devil, devil! If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile; (70) Out of my sight.-
Des. I will not stay t' offend you. [Going.
Lod. Truly, an obedient lady:
Oth. Ay; you didwish that I would make her turn;
(70) Compare this passage with that in Hamlet to which fig. 75 applies, as it regards the same likeness to a crocodile in the moon.
Very obedient-proceed you in your tears
Iago. He is much changed.
Lod. What, strike his wife!
Iago. 'Faith, that was not so well; yet 'would That stroke would prove the worst. [I knew.
Lod. Is it his use?
lago. Alas, alas ! It is not honesty in me to speak What I have seen and known. You shall observe And his own courses will denote him so, That I may save my speech, Do but go after, And mark how he continues. Lod. I'm sorry that I am deceived in him.
[Exeunt. SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Othello and Æmilia.
heard Each syllable that breath made up between them.
Oth. What? did they never whisper?
[nothing? Oth. That's strange!
Æmil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom, If any wretch hath put this in your head,
Let Heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
Oth. Bid her come hither, go. [Exit Æmilia.
Enter DESDEMONA and ÆMILIA.
Oth. Some of your function, mistress;
[Exit Æmilia. Des. Upon my knee, what doth your speech I understand a fury in your words, (import ? But not your words. Oth. Why? what art thou?
[wife : Des. Your wife, my lord; your true and loyal Oth. Come, swear it; damn thyself; lest, being Of Heaven, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee.
(honest. Therefore be double-damned ; swear thou art
Des. Heaven doth truly know it.
Oth. Heaven truly knows That thou art false as hell.
Des. To whom, my lord ? With whom? how am I false?
Oth. Ah, Desdemona ! away, away, away
Des. Alas, the heavy day! why do you weep.? Am I the motive 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 rained All kind of sores and shames of my bare head, . Steeped me in poverty (71) to the very lips, Given to captivity me and my hopes I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience. But alas, to make me A fixed figure for the hand of Scorn
(71) Steep'd me in poverty, and beggar in his drink. Othello's prototype has, in fact, somewhat the appearance of being clothed in the rags of a pauper. '