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