OTHELLO. No, not much mov’d. I do not think but Desdemona’s honest. 

IAGO. Long live she so! And long live you to think so! 

OTHELLO. And yet, how nature erring from itself— 

IAGO. Ay, 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 disproportion, thoughts unnatural. But pardon me: I do not in position Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear Her will, recoiling to her better judgement, May fall to match you with her country forms, And happily repent. 

OTHELLO. Farewell, farewell: If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago. 

IAGO. [Going.] My lord, I take my leave. 

OTHELLO. Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

IAGO. [Returning.] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour To scan this thing no further. Leave it to time: Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, For sure he fills it up with great ability, Yet if you please to hold him off awhile, You shall by that perceive him and his means. Note if your lady strain his entertainment With any strong or vehement importunity, Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, Let me be thought too busy in my fears (As worthy cause I have to fear I am) And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 

OTHELLO. Fear not my government. 

IAGO. I once more take my leave. 

 [Exit.]

OTHELLO. This fellow’s of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings, I’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have, or for I am declin’d Into the vale of years,—yet that’s not much— She’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones, Prerogativ’d are they 

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