Page 1502 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3
P. 1502
DESDEMONA
Believe me, I had rather lose my purse
Full of crusadoes: and but my noble Moor
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.
EMILIA
Is he not jealous? [25]
DESDEMONA
Who, he? I think the sun where he was born
Drew all such humours from him.
Enter Othello.
EMILIA
Look, where he comes.
DESDEMONA
I will not leave him now; let Cassio
Be call’d to him. How is it with you, my lord?
OTHELLO
Well, my good lady: (Aside) O, hardness to dissemble! [30]
How do you do, Desdemona?
DESDEMONA
Well, my good lord.
OTHELLO
Give me your hand; this hand is moist, my lady.
DESDEMONA
It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow.
OTHELLO
