Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned to-night;[6330]
for she shall not live: no, my heart is turned to stone; I[6331]
strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a[6332]
sweeter creature: she might lie by an emperor's side, and
command him tasks. 180
Iago. Nay, that's not your way.
Oth. Hang her! I do but say what she is: so delicate[6333]
with her needle: an admirable musician: O, she will sing
the savageness out of a bear: of so high and plenteous wit[6334]
and invention:—[6335] 185
Iago. She's the worse for all this.
Oth. O, a thousand thousand times: and then, of so[6336][6337][6338]
gentle a condition![6337][6339]
Iago. Ay, too gentle.
Oth. Nay, that's certain: but yet the pity of it, Iago![6340] 190
O Iago, the pity of it, Iago![6341]
Iago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent[6342]
to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes near nobody.[6343]
Oth. I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!
Iago. O, 'tis foul in her. 195