Othello (cont.)
For ’tis of aspics’ tongues!
Iago
Yet be content.
Othello
O, blood, blood, blood!
Iago
Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may change.
Othello
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont,
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,
Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven,
In the due reverence of a sacred vow
I here engage my words.