Iago
I know not that; but such a handkerchief—
I am sure it was your wife’s—did I to-day
See Cassio wipe his beard with.
Othello
If it be that—
Iago
If it be that, or any that was hers,
It speaks against her with the other proofs.
Othello
O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.
Now do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
’Tis gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,