The thought whereof doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw at my inwards; and nothing Othello can or shall content my soul till i am evened with him, wife for wife,
I am confident in my belief that Cassio loves her;
She clearly loves him, which is admirable:
The Moor, despite the fact that I don't like him, has a constant, loving, and noble nature. Othello I dare say he'll make a wonderful husband for Desdemona. I do adore her too now;
I may be held accountable for committing a worse sin than that, but I did not act out of pure lust; rather, Othello I was somewhat motivated by lust, which I believe is why the lusty Moor sprang into my seat; this notion makes me feel sick to my stomach.
And until I am on equal footing with him, Othello wife for wife, nothing can or will satisfy my spirit.
If not, then at least the Moor, which I put into.
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