Othe. What, not a Whore?
Des. No, as I shall be sau'd
Othe. Is't possible?
Des. Oh Heauen forgiue vs
Othe. I cry you mercy then.
I tooke you for that cunning Whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. You Mistris,
Enter aemilia.
That haue the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keepes the gate of hell. You, you: I you.
We haue done our course: there's money for your paines:
I pray you turne the key, and keepe our counsaile.
Enter.
Aemil. Alas, what do's this Gentleman conceiue?
How do you Madam? how do you my good Lady?
Des. Faith, halfe a sleepe
Aemi. Good Madam,
What's the matter with my Lord?
Des. With who?
Aemil. Why, with my Lord, Madam?
Des. Who is thy Lord?
Aemil. He that is yours, sweet Lady
Des. I haue none: do not talke to me, aemilia,
I cannot weepe: nor answeres haue I none,
But what should go by water. Prythee to night,
Lay on my bed my wedding sheetes, remember,
And call thy husband hither.
Aemil. Heere's a change indeed.
Enter.
Des. 'Tis meete I should be vs'd so: very meete.
How haue I bin behau'd, that he might sticke
The small'st opinion on my least misvse?
Enter Iago, and aemilia.
Iago. What is your pleasure Madam?
How is't with you?
Des. I cannot tell: those that do teach yong Babes
Do it with gentle meanes, and easie taskes.
He might haue chid me so; for in good faith
I am a Child to chiding
Iago. What is the matter Lady?
Aemil. Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Throwne such dispight, and heauy termes vpon her
That true hearts cannot beare it