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 judgment,
May fall to match you with her country forms
And happily repent.
Othello
Farewell, farewell:
If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;