What!  Michael Cassio? 
     That came a wooing with you, and so many a time,
     When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
     Hath ta’en your part, to have so much to do
     To bring him in?—­Why this is not a boon: 
     ’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
     Or feed on nourishing meats, or keep you warm;
     Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit
     To your person.  Nay, when I have a suit,
     Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed,
     It shall be full of poise, and fearful to be granted.

Othello’s confidence, at first only staggered by broken hints and insinuations, recovers itself at sight of Desdemona; and he exclaims

     If she be false, O then Heav’n mocks itself: 
     I’ll not believe it.

But presently after, on brooding over his suspicions by himself, and yielding to his apprehensions of the worst, his smothered jealousy breaks out into open fury, and he returns to demand satisfaction of Iago like a wild beast stung with the envenomed shaft of the hunters.  ‘Look where he comes’, &c.  In this state of exasperation and violence, after the first paroxysms of his grief and tenderness have had their vent in that passionate apostrophe, ’I felt not Cassio’s kisses on her lips,’ Iago by false aspersions, and by presenting the most revolting images to his mind, [Footnote:  See the passage beginning, ’It is impossible you should see this, Were they as prime as goats,’ &c.] easily turns the storm of Passion from himself against Desdemona, and works him up into a trembling agony of doubt and fear, in which he abandons all his love and hopes in a breath.

     Now do I see’tis true.  Look here, Iago,
     All my fond love thus do I blow to Heav’n.  Tis gone. 
     Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell;
     Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
     To tyrannous hate!  Swell, bosom, with thy fraught;
     For’tis of aspicks’ tongues.

From this time, his raging thoughts ’never look back, ne’er ebb to humble love’ till his revenge is sure of its object, the painful regrets and involuntary recollections of past circumstances which cross his mind amidst the dim trances of passion, aggravating the sense of his wrongs, but not shaking his purpose.  Once indeed, where Iago shows him Cassio with the handkerchief in his hand, and making sport (as he thinks) of his misfortunes, the intolerable bitterness of his feelings, the extreme sense of shame, makes him fall to praising her accomplishments and relapse into a momentary fit of weakness, ‘Yet, oh, the pity of it, Iago, the pity of it!’ This returning fondness, however, only serves, as it is managed by Iago, to whet his revenge, and set his heart more against her.  In his conversations with Desdemona, the persuasion of her guilt and the immediate proofs of her duplicity seem to irritate his resentment and aversion to her; but in the scene immediately preceding her death, the recollection of his love returns upon him in all its tenderness and force; and after her death, he all at once forgets his wrongs in the sudden and irreparable sense of his loss: