“This to hearWould Desdemona seriously incline:But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,She'ld come again, and with a greedy earDevour up my discourse: which I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof by parcels she had something heard,But not intentively: I did consent,And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat my youth suffer'd. My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,And I loved her that she did pity them.This only is the witchcraft I have used:Here comes the lady; let her witness it.”

“She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used.”

“She repeated what her mother had told me, that she had been moved when she heard me playing as she passed the house. She had seen me on the street a few times, too, and begun to worship me. She actually used that word: worship. It made me turn bright red. I mean, to be 'worshiped' by such a beautiful little doll of a girl! I don't think it was an absolute lie, though. I was in my thirties already, of course, and I could never be as beautiful and bright as she was, and I had no special talent, but I must have had something that drew her to me, something that was missing in her, I would guess. Which must have been what got her interested in my to begin with. I believe that now, looking back. And I'm not boasting.”

“There is a lady sweet and kind,Was never a face so pleased my mind;I did but see her passing by. And yet I'll love her till I die. Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,Beguiles my heart, I know not why,And yet I'll love her till I die. Cupid is winged and he doth range,Her country, so, my love doth change. But change she earth, or change she sky,Yet, I will love her till I die.”

“But still I was curious to know what sort of an explanation she would have given me—or would give now, if I pressed her for it—how much she would confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse herself. I longed to know what to despise, and what to admire in her; how much to pity, and how much to hate;—and, what was more, I would know. I would see her once more, and fairly satisfy myself in what light to regard her, before we parted. Lost to me she was, for ever, of course; but still I could not bear to think that we had parted, for the last time, with so much unkindness and misery on both sides. That last look of hers had sunk into my heart; I could not forget it. But what a fool I was! Had she not deceived me, injured me—blighted my happiness for life? ‘Well, I’ll see her, however,’ was my concluding resolve, ‘but not to-day: to-day and to-night she may think upon her sins, and be as miserable as she will: to-morrow I will see her once again, and know something more about her. The interview may be serviceable to her, or it may not. At any rate, it will give a breath of excitement to the life she has doomed to stagnation, and may calm with certainty some agitating thoughts.”

“Twas something else. I had come to hate her, you see. I had come to wish her dead, and that was what held me back.”