Othello
What then?
Iago
Why, then, ’tis hers, my lord; and, being hers,
She may, I think, bestow’t on any man.
Othello
She is protectress of her honour too:
May she give that?
Iago
Her honour is an essence that’s not seen;
They have it very oft that have it not:
But, for the handkerchief—
Othello
By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.
Thou said’st, it comes o’er my memory,
As doth the raven o’er the infected house,