no ebb', that Shakespeare has shown the mastery of his genius and of
his power over the human heart. The third act of Othello is his
masterpiece, not of knowledge or passion separately, but of the two
combined, of the knowledge of character with the expression of
passion, of consummate art in the keeping up of appearances with the
profound workings of nature, and the convulsive movements of
uncontrollable agony, of the power of inflicting torture and of
suffering it. Not only is the tumult of passion heaved up from the
very bottom of the soul, but every the slightest undulation of
feeling is seen on the surface, as it arises from the impulses of
imagination or the different probabilities maliciously suggested by
Iago. The progressive preparation for the catastrophe is wonderfully
managed from the Moor's first gallant recital of the story of his
love, of 'the spells and witchcraft he had used', from his unlooked-
for and romantic success, the fond satisfaction with which he dotes
on his own happiness, the unreserved tenderness of Desdemona and her
innocent importunities in favour of Cassio, irritating the
suspicions instilled into her husband's mind by the perfidy of lago,
and rankling there to poison, till he loses all command of himself,
and his rage can only be appeased by blood. She is introduced, just
before lago begins to put his scheme in practice, pleading for
Cassio with all the thoughtless gaiety of friendship and winning
confidence in the love of Othello.

What! Michael Cassio?
That came a wooing with you, and so many a time,
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
Hath ta'en your part, to have so much to do
To bring him in?--Why this is not a boon:
'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,