Othello. Уильям Шекспир

        OTHELLO. My life upon her faith! Honest Iago,

          My Desdemona must I leave to thee.

          I prithee, let thy wife attend on her,

          And bring them after in the best advantage.

          Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour

          Of love, of worldly matters and direction,

          To spend with thee. We must obey the time.

        RODERIGO. Iago!

        IAGO. What say'st thou, noble heart?

        RODERIGO. What will I do, thinkest thou?

        IAGO. Why, go to bed and sleep.

        RODERIGO. I will incontinently drown myself.

        IAGO. If thou dost, I shall never love thee after.

          Why, thou silly gentleman!

        RODERIGO. It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and

      then

          have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.

        IAGO. O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times

          seven years, and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit

      and

          an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself.

      Ere I

          would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea hen,

      I

          would change my humanity with a baboon.

        RODERIGO. What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so

      fond,

          but it is not in my virtue to amend it.

        IAGO. Virtue? a fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or

      thus.

          Our bodies are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners;

      so

          that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and

      weed

          up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it

      with

          many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with

          industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this

      lies in

          our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of

          reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness

      of

          our natures would conduct us to most preposterous

      conclusions.

          But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal

      stings,

          our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love,

      to

          be a sect or scion.

        RODERIGO. It cannot be.

        IAGO. It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the

          will. Come, be a man! Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind

          puppies. I have professed me thy friend, and I confess me

      knit to

          thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could

      never

          better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow

      thou

          the wars; defeat thy favor with an usurped beard. I say, put

          money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long

          continue her love to the Moor – put money in thy purse – nor he

      his

          to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an

          answerable sequestration – put but money in thy purse. These

      Moors

          are changeable in their wills – fill thy purse with money. The

          food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to

      him

          shortly as acerb as the coloquintida. She must change for

      youth;

          when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of

      her

          choice. She must have change, she must; therefore put money

      in

          thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more

      delicate

          way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst. If

      sanctimony

          and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle

          Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of

      hell,

          thou shalt enjoy her – therefore make money. A pox of drowning

          thyself! It is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be

          hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go

      without

          her.

        RODERIGO. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the

      issue?

        IAGO. Thou art sure of me – go, make money. I have told thee

      often,

          and I retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause

      is

          hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in

      our

          revenge against him. If thou canst cuckold him, thou dost

      thyself

          a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of

      time

          which will be delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We

      will

          have more of this tomorrow. Adieu.

        RODERIGO. Where shall we meet i' the morning?

        IAGO. At my lodging.

        RODERIGO. I'll be with thee betimes.

        IAGO. Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?

        RODERIGO. What say you?

        IAGO. No more of drowning, do you hear?

        RODERIGO. I am changed; I'll go sell all my land.

      Exit.

        IAGO.