And may: but, how? how satisfied, my lord? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on⁠— Behold her topp’d?

It were a tedious difficulty, I think, To bring them to that prospect: damn them then, If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster More than their own! What then? how then? What shall I say? Where’s satisfaction? It is impossible you should see this, Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, If imputation and strong circumstances, Which lead directly to the door of truth, Will give you satisfaction, you may have’t.

I do not like the office: But, sith I am enter’d in this cause so far, Prick’d to’t by foolish honesty and love, I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately; And, being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep. There are a kind of men so loose of soul, That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs: One of this kind is Cassio: In sleep I heard him say “Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;” And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard, As if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg Over my thigh, and sigh’d, and kiss’d; and then Cried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”

But this denoted a foregone conclusion: ’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

And this may help to thicken other proofs That do demonstrate thinly.