Othello

heaven
    Â Â Â Â To try me with affliction , had he rain’d
    Â Â Â Â All kinds of sore s and shames on my bare head, [50]
    Â Â Â Â  Steep ’d me in poverty , to the very lips,
    Â Â Â Â Given to captivity me and my hopes,
    Â Â Â Â I should have found in some part of my soul
    Â Â Â Â A drop of patience; but, alas, to make me
    Â Â Â Â A fixed figure, for the time of scorn [55]
    Â Â Â Â To point his slow unmoving fingers at ... oh, oh.
    Â Â Â Â Yet could I bear that too, well, very well:
    Â Â Â Â But there, where I have garner’d up my heart,
    Â Â Â Â Where either I must live, or bear no life,
    Â Â Â Â The fountain , from the which my current runs, [60]
    Â Â Â Â Or else dries up, to be discard ed thence,
    Â Â Â Â Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads
    Â Â Â Â To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there;
    Â Â Â Â Patience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,
    Â Â Â Â I here look grim as hell! [65]
    DESDEMONA. I hope my noble lord esteem s me honest.
    OTHELLO. O, ay, as summer’s flies, are in the shambles ,
    Â Â Â Â That quicken even with blowing :
    Â Â Â Â O thou black weed , why art so lovely fair?
    Â Â Â Â Thou smell’st so sweet, that the sense aches at thee, [70]
    Â Â Â Â Would thou hadst ne’er been born!
    DESDEMONA. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed ?
    OTHEL LO. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
    Â Â Â Â Made to write “whore” on? ... What, committed?
    Â Â Â Â Committed! O thou public commoner ! [75]
    Â Â Â Â I should make very forge s of my cheeks,
    Â Â Â Â That would to cinders burn up modesty,
    Â Â Â Â Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed!
    Â Â Â Â Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon wink s ,
    Â Â Â Â The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, [80]
    Â Â Â Â Is hush ’d within the hollow mine of earth,
    Â Â Â Â And will not hear ’t: ... what committed, –
    Â Â Â Â  Impudent strumpet!
    DESDEMONA. By heaven, you do me wrong.
    OTHELLO. Are not you a strumpet?
    D ESDEMONA. No, as I am a Christian:
    Â Â Â Â If to preserve this vessel for my lord [85]
    Â Â Â Â From any hated foul unlawful touch,
    Â Â Â Â Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.
    OTHELLO. What, not a whore?
    DESDEMONA. No, as I shall be sav’d.
    (Enter Emilia.)
    OTHELLO. Is ’t possible?
    DESDEMONA. O heaven, forgiveness.
    OTHELLO. I cry you mercy, [90]
    Â Â Â Â I took you for that cunning whore of Venice,
    Â Â Â Â That married with Othello: you, mistress,
    Â Â Â Â That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
    Â Â Â Â And keeps the gates in hell, ay, you, you, you!
    Â Â Â Â We ha’ done our course; there’s money for your pains, [95]
    Â Â Â Â I pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel.
    (Exit.)
    EMILIA. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive ?
    Â Â Â Â How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?
    DESDEMONA. Faith, half asleep.
    EMILIA. Good madam, what’s the matter with my lord? [100]
    DESDEMONA. With who?
    EMILIA. Why, with my lord, madam.
    DESDEMONA. Who is thy lord?
    EMILIA. He that is yours, sweet lady.
    D ESDEMONA. I ha’ none, do not talk to me, Emilia,
    Â Â Â Â I cannot weep, nor answer have I none, [105]
    Â Â Â Â But what should go by water: prithee, to-night
    Â Â Â Â Lay on my bed our wedding sheets ; remember,
    Â Â Â Â And call thy husband hither.
    EMILIA. Here is a change indeed!
    (Exit.)
    DESDEMONA. ’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very well;
    Â Â Â Â How have I been behav’d, that he might stick [110]
    Â Â Â Â The smallest opinion, on my greatest abuse?
    (Enter Iago and Emilia.)
    IAGO. What is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you?
    DESDEMON A.
    Â Â Â Â I cannot tell: those that do teach young babe s
    Â Â Â Â Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks;
    Â Â Â Â He might ha’ chid me so, for, in good faith, [115]
    Â Â Â Â I am a child at chiding.
    IAGO. What is the matter, lady?
    EMILIA. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her,
    Â Â Â Â Thrown such despite , and heavy term s upon her,
    Â Â Â Â As true hearts cannot bear.
    DESDEMONA. Am I that name, Iago?
    IAGO. What name, fair lady?