Some horrible conceit: If thou dost love me,
Shew me thy thought.
Iago. My Lord, you know I love you.
Othello. I think thou dost:
And for I know thou ‘rt full of love and honesty,
And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath,
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:
For such things in a false disloyal knave
Are tricks of custom: but in a man that’s just,
They’re cold dilations working from the heart,