Oth. Mistress——
Oth. What would you with her, Sir?
Lod. Who, I, my Lord?
Oth. Ay; you did wish that I would make her turn: Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on; And turn again. And she can weep, Sir, weep; And she’s obedient: as you say, obedient; Very obedient—proceed you in your tears—Concerning this, Sir,—oh well-painted passion!—I am commanded home—get you away, I’ll send for you anon—Sir, I obey the mandate, And will return to Venice.—— Hence, avaunt! [Exit Desdemona.
Othello, act 4. sc. 6.
Æmilia. Oh! my good Lord, I would speak a word with you.
Othello. Yes, ’tis Æmilia—by and by—she’s dead. ’Tis like, she comes to speak of Cassio’s death; The noise was high.—Ha, no more moving? Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were’t good? I think she stirs again—No—what’s the best? If she come in, she’ll, sure, speak to my wife; My wife! my wife! What wife? I have no wife. Oh insupportable! oh heavy hour!
A fourth observation is, that nature, which gave us passions, and made them extremely beneficial when moderate, intended undoubtedly that they should be subjected to the government of reason and conscience[52]. It is therefore against the order of nature, that passion in any case should take the lead in contradiction to reason and conscience. Such a state of mind is a sort of anarchy, which every one is ashamed of, and endeavours to hide or dissemble. Even love, however laudable, is attended with a conscious shame when it becomes immoderate: it is covered from the world, and disclosed only to the beloved object: