Before the castle.
Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.” Music.
Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access.
I’ll send her to you presently; And I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free.
I humbly thank you for’t. Exit Iago. I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest.
Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it; And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again.
Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone.
Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely.
A room in the castle.
These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me.