Iago. Will you sup there?
Cassio. Yes, I intend so
Iago. Well, I may chance to see you: for I would very
faine speake with you
Cas. Prythee come: will you?
Iago. Go too; say no more
Oth. How shall I murther him, Iago
Iago. Did you perceiue how he laugh'd at his vice?
Oth. Oh, Iago
Iago. And did you see the Handkerchiefe?
Oth. Was that mine?
Iago. Yours by this hand: and to see how he prizes
the foolish woman your wife: she gaue it him and, he
hath giu'n it his whore
Oth. I would haue him nine yeeres a killing:
A fine woman, a faire woman, a sweete woman?
Iago. Nay, you must forget that
Othello. I, let her rot and perish, and be damn'd to night, for she shall not liue. No, my heart is turn'd to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world hath not a sweeter Creature: she might lye by an Emperours side, and command him Taskes
Iago. Nay, that's not your way
Othe. Hang her, I do but say what she is: so delicate with her Needle: an admirable Musitian. Oh she will sing the Sauagenesse out of a Beare: of so high and plenteous wit, and inuention? Iago. She's the worse for all this