you ask me is it worth it, and Liza
I can’t for the life of me tell you if
it is; what is worth? it simply is this
way, Liza, and I am who I am. what
else could I be, but that I would myself
betray, and betraying self could not but
betray all . . . and being betrayal itself,
would become Iago — who then might play my
evil’s object, my Desdemona or
my beloved Moor, my captain Othello?
if hell hath no fury as a woman scorned,
Liza, then what is hell but the fiery
wrath of man scorned; would you then author
to hell and turn me to this outer darkness?
David M Pitchford
28 Oct 2011