Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio!
My advocation is not now in tune;
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,
Were he in favour as in humour alter'd. (3.4.32)
What's the matter, lady?
Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her.
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
As true hearts cannot bear.
Am I that name, Iago?
What name, fair lady?
Such as she says my lord did say I was.
He call'd her whore: a beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.
Why did he so?
I do not know; I am sure I am none such. (4.2.6)
O thou Othello, thou wert once so good,
Fall'n in the practise of a damned slave,
What shall be said to thee?
Why, any thing:
An honourable murderer, if you will;
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. (5.2.3)
Soft you; a word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they know't.
No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak
Of one that loved not wisely but too well;
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him, thus. [kills himself][…]