Des. Seeke him, bidde him come hither: tell him, I
haue moou'd my Lord on his behalfe, and hope all will
be well

Clo. To do this, is within the compasse of mans Wit,
and therefore I will attempt the doing it.

Exit Clo.

Des. Where should I loose the Handkerchiefe, aemilia?
Aemil. I know not Madam

Des. Beleeue me, I had rather haue lost my purse
Full of Cruzadoes. And but my Noble Moore
Is true of minde, and made of no such basenesse,
As iealious Creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill-thinking.
Aemil. Is he not iealious?
Des. Who, he? I thinke the Sun where he was borne,
Drew all such humors from him.
Aemil. Looke where he comes.
Enter Othello.

Des. I will not leaue him now, till Cassio be
Call'd to him. How is't with you, my Lord?
Oth. Well my good Lady. Oh hardnes to dissemble!
How do you, Desdemona?
Des. Well, my good Lord

Oth. Giue me your hand.