Iago. Bless’d fig’s end. The wine she drinks is made of grapes. If
she had been bless’d, she would never have loved the Moor.’
And again, with still more effect and spirit afterwards, when he takes advantage of this very suggestion arising in Othello’s own breast:—
‘Othello. And yet how nature erring from itself—
Iago. Aye, there’s the point;—as, to be bold with you,
Not to affect many proposed matches,
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
Whereto we see in all things, Nature tends;
Foh! one may smell in such, a will most rank,
Foul disproportions, thoughts unnatural.’