news with you? Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you That by your virtuous means I may again Exist, and be a member of his love Whom I with all the office of my heart Entirely honour: I would not be delay'd. If my offence be of such mortal kind That nor my service past, nor present sorrows, Nor purposed merit in futurity, Can ransom me into his love again, But to know so must be my benefit; So shall I clothe me in a forced content, And shut myself up in some other course, To fortune's alms. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio! My advocation is not now in tune; My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him, Were he in favour as in humour alter'd. So help me every spirit sanctified, As I have spoken for you all my best And stood within the blank of his displeasure For my free speech! you must awhile be patient: What I can do I will; and more I will Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you. Is my lord angry? He went hence but now, And certainly in strange unquietness. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon, When it hath blown his ranks into the air, And, like the devil, from his very arm Puff'd his own brother:--and can he be angry? Something of moment then: I will go meet him: There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. I prithee, do so. Something, sure, of state, Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practise Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, Hath puddled his clear spirit: and in such cases Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so; For let our finger ache, and it indues Our other healthful members even to that sense Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observances As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, Arraigning his unkindness with my soul; But now I find I had suborn'd the witness, And he's indicted falsely. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you think, And no conception nor no jealous toy Concerning you. Alas the day! I never gave him cause. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind! Lady, amen. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk