Iago
Nay, that’s not your way.
Othello
Hang her! I do but say what she is: so delicate with her needle: an admirable musician: O! she will sing the savageness out of a bear: of so high and plenteous wit and invention:—
Iago
She’s the worse for all this.
Othello
O, a thousand thousand times: and then, of so gentle a condition!
Iago
Ay, too gentle.
Othello
Nay, that’s certain: but yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of it, Iago!
Iago
If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes near nobody.
Othello
I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!
Iago
O, ’tis foul in her.
Othello
With mine officer!