, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. I am your own for ever. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies? I dare not say he lies any where. Why, man? He's a soldier, and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing. Go to: where lodges he? To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie. Can any thing be made of this? I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a lodging and say he lies here or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report? I will catechise the world for him; that is, make questions, and by them answer. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and hope all will be well. To do this is within the compass of man's wit: and therefore I will attempt the doing it. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia? I know not, madam. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse Full of crusadoes: and, but my noble Moor Is true of mind and made of no such baseness As jealous creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill thinking. Is he not jealous? Who, he? I think the sun where he was born Drew all such humours from him. Look, where he comes. I will not leave him now till Cassio Be call'd to him. How is't with you, my lord Well, my good lady. O, hardness to dissemble!-- How do you, Desdemona? Well, my good lord. Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my lady. It yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart: Hot, hot, and moist: this hand of yours requires A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, Much castigation, exercise devout; For here's a young and sweating devil here, That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, A frank one. You may, indeed, say so; For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. A liberal hand: the hearts of old gave hands; But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise. What promise, chuck? I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me; Lend me thy handkerchief. Here, my lord. That which I gave you.