declined
Into the vale of years,--yet that's not much--
She's gone. I am abused; 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;
Prerogatived 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.
How now, my dear Othello!
Your dinner, and the generous islanders
By you invited, do attend your presence.
I am to blame.
Why do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well?
I have a pain upon my forehead here.
'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.
Your napkin is too little:
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.
I am very sorry that you are 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 conjured 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.
How now! what do you here alone?
Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.
A thing for me? it is a common thing--
Ha!
To have a foolish wife.
O, is that all? What will you give me now
For the same handkerchief?
What handkerchief?
What handkerchief?
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.
Hast stol'n 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.
A good wench; give it me.
What will you do with 't, that you have been
so earnest
To have me filch it?
Why, what's that to you?
If it be not for some purpose of import,
Give't me again: poor lady, she'll run mad
When she shall lack it.
Be not