Othello monologue (Act 3) — Othello

This fellow’s of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings, I’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have, or for I am declin’d Into the vale of years,—yet that’s not much— She’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones, Prerogativ’d are they less than the base, ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death: Even then this forked plague is fated to us When we do quicken. Desdemona comes. If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! I’ll not believe’t.