an ladies, his country-women, better than
Othello could do; and that in Venice the wives let heaven see many
pranks they dared not show their husbands. Then he artfully insinuated
that Desdemona deceived her father in marrying with Othello, and carried
it so closely, that the poor old man thought that witchcraft had been
used. Othello was much moved with this argument, which brought the
matter home to him, for if she had deceived her father, why might she
not deceive her husband?

Iago begged pardon for having moved him; but Othello, assuming an
indifference, while he was really shaken with inward grief at Iago's
words, begged him to go on, which Iago did with many apologies, as if
unwilling to produce anything against Cassio, whom he called his friend:
he then came strongly to the point, and reminded Othello how Desdemona
had refused many suitable matches of her own clime and complexion, and
had married him, a Moor, which showed unnatural in her, and proved her
to have a headstrong will; and when her better judgment returned, how
probable it was she should fall upon comparing Othello with the fine
forms and clear white complexions of the young Italians her countrymen.
He concluded with advising Othello to put off his reconcilement with
Cassio a little longer, and in the meanwhile to note with what
earnestness Desdemona should intercede in his behalf; for that much
would be seen in that. So mischievously did this artful villain lay his
plots to turn the gentle qualities of this innocent lady into her
destruction, and make a net for her out of her own goodness to entrap
her: first setting Cassio on to entreat her mediation, and then out of
that very mediation contriving stratagems for her ruin.

The conference ended with Iago's begging Othello to account his wife
innocent, until he had more decisive proof; and Othello promised to be
patient; but from that moment the deceived Othello never tasted content
of mind. Poppy, nor the juice of mandragora, nor all the sleeping
potions in the world, could ever again restore to him that sweet rest,
which he had enjoyed but yesterday. His occupation sickened upon him. He
no longer took delight in arms. His heart, that used to be roused at the
sight of troops, and banners, and battle-array, and would stir and leap
at the sound of a drum, or a trumpet, or a neighing war-horse, seemed to
have lost all that pride and ambition which are a soldier's virtue; and
his military ardour and al