Iago
And may: but, how? how satisfied, my lord?
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on—
Behold her topp’d?
Othello
Death and damnation! O!
Iago
It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
To bring them to that prospect: damn them then,
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster
More than their own! What then? how then?
What shall I say? Where’s satisfaction?
It is impossible you should see this,
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
If imputation and strong circumstances,
Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you satisfaction, you may have’t.
Othello
Give me a living reason she’s disloyal.