OTHELLO

It's better as it is. What is the matter, think you? Holla, stand there. I, let her ot and perish, and be damned to night, for she shall not live. No, my heart is turned to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter Creature: she might lie by and Em perours side, and command him Tasks. Come swear it: damn thy self, least being Like one of Heaven, the devils themselves should fear to cease thee. Therefore be double damned: swear thou art honest. Get you to bed on the instant, I will be re turned forth with: dismiss your Attendant there: look't be done. Nay stare not Master's, It is true indeed. Let him do his spite; My Services, which I have done the Signory Shall out-tongue his Complaints. It's yet to know, Which when I know, that boasting is and Honour, I shall promulgate. I fetch my life and being, From Men of Royal Siege. And my demerits May speak (vnbonnetted) to as proud a Fortune As this that I have reached. For know Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemon, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into Circumscription, and Confine, For the Seas worth. But look, what Lights come yond? Not I: I must be found. My Parts, my Title, and my perfect Soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? The Servants of the Dukes? And my Lieutenant? The goodness of the Night upon you (Friends) What is the News? It's well I am found by you: I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. Have with you. I do beseech you, Send for the Lady to the Sagitary. And let her speak of me before her Father; If you do find me foul, in her report, The Trust, the Office, I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your Sentence Even fallen upon my life. What dost thou say? Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? Not now (sweet Desdemon ) some other time. Why did I marry? This honest Creature (doubtless) Sees, and knows more, much more then he unfolds. Oh that the Slave had forty thousand lives: One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. Now do I see it's true. Look here Iago, All my found love thus do I blow to Heaven. It's gone, Arise black vengeance, from the hollow hell, Yield up (Oh Love) thy Crown, and hearted Throne To tyrannous Hate. Swell bosom with thy fraught, For it's of Aspickes tongues. I Desdemon. Behold, I have a weapon: A better never did it self sustain Upon a Soldiers Thigh. I have seen the day, That with this little Arm, and this good Sword, I have made my way through more impediments Then twenty times your stop. But (o vain boast) Who can control his Fate? It's not so now. Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed: Here is my journeys end, here is my butt And very Seamark of my utmost Sail. Do you go back dismayed? It's a lost fear: Man but a Rush against Othello is breast, And he retires. Where should Othello go? Now: how dost thou look now? O ill-starred wench, Pale as thy Smock: when we shall meet at count, This look of thine will hurl my Soul from Heaven, And Fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girl? Even Like thy Chastity. Oh cursed, cursed Slave! Whip me you Devils, From the possession of this Heavenly sighed: Blow me about in winds, roast me in Sulphur, Wash me in steepdown gulfs of Liquid fire. O Desdemon ! dead Desdemon : dead. O, o! I am not sorry neither, Ill have thee live: For in my sense, it's happiness to die. Oh Fool, fool, fool! Keep up your bright Swords, for the Due will rust them. Good Signior, you shall more command with years, then with your Weapons. Hold your hands Both you of my inclining, and the rest. Were it my Cue to fight, I should have known it Without a Prompter. Whither will you that I go To answer this your charge? What if do obey? How may the Duke be therewith satisfied, Whose Messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the State, To bring me to him. Most Potent, Grave, and Reueren'd Signiors, My very Noble, and approved good Master's; That I have taken away this old men Daughter, It is most true: true I have married her; The very head, and front of my offending, Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I, in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of Peace; For since these Arms of mine, had seven years pith, Till now, some nine Moons wasted, they have used Their dearest Actium, in the Tented Field: And little of this great world can I speak, More then pertains to Feats of Broils, and Battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause, In speaking for my self. Yet, (by your gracious patience) I will a round vn-varnish'd Tale deliver, Of my whole course of Love. What Drug, what Charms, What Conjuration, and what mighty Magic, (For such proceeding I am charged withal) I wone his Daughter. Aunciant, conduct them: You best know the place. And tell she come, as truly as to heaven, I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your Grave ears, I'll present How I did thrive in this fair Ladies love, And she in mine. Her Father loved me, oft invited me: Still questioned me the Story of my life, From year to year: the Battle, Sieges, Fortune, That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances: Of moving Accidents by Flood and Field, Of hairbreadth escapes in the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the Insolent Foe, And sold to slavery. Of my redemption thence, And portance in my Travelers history. Wherein of Antars vast, and Deserts idle, Rough Quarries, Rocks, Hills, whose head touch heaven, It was my hint to speak. Such was my Process, And of the Canibals that each others eat, The Antropophague, and men whose heads Grew beneath their shoulders. These things to hear, Would Desdemon seriously incline: But still the house Affairs would draw her hence: Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'l'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse. Which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my Pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something herd, But not instinctively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffered: My Story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of kisses: She swore in faith 'twas strange: 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful: 'twas wondrous pitiful. She wished she had not herd it, yet she wished That Heaven had made her such a man. She thanked 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 spoke, 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. Here comes the Lady: Let her witness it. The Tyrant Custom, most Grave Senators, Hath made the flinty and Steel Coach of War My thrice-driuen bed of Down. I do agnize A Natural and prompt Alacartie, I find in hardness: and do undertake This present Wars against the Ottamites. Most humbly therefore bending to your State, I crave fit disposition for my Wife, Endue reference of Place, and Exhibition, With such Accommodation and besort As levels with her breeding. Nor I. Let her have your voice. Vouch with me Heaven, I therefore beg it not To please the palate of my Appetite: Nor to comply with heat the young affects In my defunct, and proper satisfaction. But to be free, and bounteous to her mind: And Heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant When she is with me. No, when light winged Toys Of feathered Cupid, seel with wanton dulness My speculative, and officed Instrument: That my Disports corrupt, and taint my business: Let Housewives make a Skillet of my Helm, And all indign, and base adversities, Make head against my Estimation. With all my heart. So please your Grace, my Ancient, A man he is of honesty and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful, your good Grace shall think To be sent after me. My life upon her faith. Honest Iago, My Desdemon must I leave to thee: I prithee let thy wife attend on her, And bring them after in the best advantage. Come Desdemon, I have but and hour Of Love, of wordly matter, and direction To spend with thee. We must obey the the time. It gives me wonder great, as my content To see you here before me. O my Souls Joy: If after every Tempest, come such Calms, May the winds blow, till they have wakened death: And let the labouring Bark climb hills of Seas Olympus high: and duck again as low. As hell's from Heaven. If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy. For I fear, My Soul hath her content so absolute, That not another comfort Like to this, Succeeds in unknown Fate. Amen to rhat (sweet Powers) I cannot speak enough of this content, It stops me here: it is too much of joy. And this, and this the greatest discords be That ere our hearts shall make. Come: let us to the Castle. News (Friends) our Wars are done: The Turks are drowned. How do's my old Acquaintance of this Isle? (Honey) you shall be well desired in Cyprus, I have round great love amongst them. O my Sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I do ate In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the Bay, and disembark my Coffers: Bring thou the Master to the Citadel, He is a good one, and his worthiness Do's challenge much respect. Come Desdemon, Once more well met at Cyprus. Good Michael, look you to the guard to night. Let's teach our selves that Honourable stop, Not to out-sport discretion. Iago, is most honest: Michael, goodnight. To morrow with your earliest, Let me have speech with you. Come my deer Love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue, That profit's yet to come between me, and you. Goodnight. What is the matter here? Hold for your lives. How comes it (Michael) you are thus forgotten? Worthy Montano, you were wont to be civil: The gravity, and stillness of your youth The world hath noted. And your name is great In mouths of wisest Censure. What's the matter That you unlace your reputation thus, And spend your rich opinion, for the name Of a night-brawler? Give me answer to it. Now by Heaven, My blood begins my safer Guides to rule, And passion (having my best judgement collied) Assays to lead the way. If I once stir, Or do but lift this Arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul Rout began: Who set it on, And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinned with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What in a Town of war, Yet wild, the peoples hearts brimful of fear, To Manage private, and domestic Quarrel? In night, and on the Court and Guard of safety? It's monstrous: Iago, who began't? I know Iago Thy honesty, and love does mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio: Cassio, I love thee, But never more be Officer of mine. Look if my gentle Love be not raised up: I'll make thee and example. All's well, Sweating: Come away to bed. Sir for your hurts, My self will be your Surgeon. Led him off: Iago, look with care about the Town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come Desdemon, it's the Soldiers life, To have their Balmy slumbers waked with strife. These Letters give (Iago) to the Pilot, And by him do my duties to the Senate: That done, I will be walking on the Works, Repair there to me. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgotten it: Thou saidst (o, it comes over my memory, As does the Raven over the infectious house: Boding to all) he had my Handkerchief. That's not so good now. What? What? Lie with her? lie on her? We say lie on her, when they be-lye-her. Lie with her: that's fulsome: Handkerchief: Confessions: Handkerchief. To con fesse, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to confess: I tremble at it. Nature would not invest her self in such shadowing passion, without some Instruction. It is not words that shakes me thus, (pish) Noses, Ears, and Lips: is't possible. Confess? Hand kerchief? Oh devil. Dost thou mock me? A Horned man's a Monster, and a Beast. Did he confess it? Dost thou hear, Iago, I will be found most cunning in my Patience: But (dost thou hear) most bloody. By Heaven, that should be my Handkerchief. Hang her, I do but say what she is: so delicate with her Needle: and admirable Musician. O she will sing the Savageness out of a Bear: of so high and plen teous wit, and invention? O, a thousand, a thousand times: And the of so gentle a condition? Nay that's certain: But yet the pity of it, Iago : o Iago, the pity of it Iago. Get me some poison, Iago, this night. I'll not expostulate with her: least her body and beauty vnpro vide my mind again: this night Iago. Excellent good: What Trumpet is that same? With all my heart Sir. I kiss the Instrument of their pleasures. Are you sure of that? This fail you not to do, as you will — Indeed? I am glad to see you mad. Devil. O devil, devil: If that the Earth could teem with woman's tears, Each drop she falls, would prove a Crocodile: Out of my sighed. Mistress. What would you with her, Sir? I, you did wish, that I would make her turn: Sir, she can turn, and turn: and yet go on And turn again. And she can weep, Sir, weep. And she's obedient: as you say obedient. Very obedient: proceed you in your tears. Concerning this Sir, (o well-painted passion) I am commanded home: get you away: I'll send for you anon. Sir I obey the Mandate, And will return to Venice. Hence, avant: Cassio shall have my Place. And Sir, to night I do entreat, that we may sup together. You are welcome Sir to Cyprus. Goats, and Monkeys. You have seen nothing then? Yes; you have seen Cassio, and she together. What? Did they never whisper? Nor send you out of the way? To fetch her Fan, her Gloves, her Mask, nor no thing? That's strange. Bid her come hither: go. She says enough: yet she's a simple Baud That cannot say as much. This is a subtle Whore: A Closet Lock and Key of Villainous Secrets, And yet she'll kneel, and pray: I have seen her do't. Pray you Chuck come hither. Some of your Function Mistress: Leave Procreants alone, and shut the door: Cough, or cry hem; if any body come: Your Mystery, your Mystery: May dispatch. Why? What art thou? Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell. Ah Desdemon, away, away, away. Had to pleased Heaven, To try me with Affliction, had they rained All kind of Sores, and Shames on my barehead: Steeped me in poverty to the very lips, Given to Captivity, me, and my utmost Hope's, I should have found in some place of my Soul A drop of patience. But alas, to make me The fixed Figure for the time of Scorn, To point his slow, and moving finger at. Yet could I bear that too, well, very well: But there where I have garnerd up my heart, Where either I must live, or bear no life, The Fountain from the which my currant runs, Or else dries up: to be discarded thence, Or keep it as a Cistern, for foul Toads To knot and gender in. Turn thy complexion there: Patience, thou young and Rose-lip'd Cherubin, I here look grim as hell. Was this fair Paper? This most goodly Book Made to write Whore upon? What committed, Committed? O, thou public Commoner, I should make very Forges of my cheeks, That would to Cinders burn up Modesty, Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed? Heaven stops the Nose at it, and the Moon winks: The baudy wind that kisses all it meets, Is hushed within the hollow Mine of Earth And will not hear't. What committed? Are not you a Strumpet? What, not a Whore? Is't possible? I cry you mercy then. I took you for that cunning Whore of Venice, That married with Othello. You Mistress, That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, And keeps the gate of hell. You, you: I you. We have done our course: there's money for your pains: I pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel. Oh, my fair Warrior. Why how now hoa? From whence arises this? Are we turned Turks? and to our selves do that Which Heaven hath forbid the Ottamittes. For Christian shame, put by this barbarous Brawl: He that stirs next, to carve for his own rage, Holds his soul light: He die upon his Motion. Silence that dreadful Bell, it frights the Isle, From her propriety. What is the matter, Master's? Honest Iago that looks dead with grieving, Speak: who began this? On thy love I charge thee? This Fortification (Gentlemen) shall we see't? I do believe 'twas he. Who is't you mean? Went he hence now? The sooner (Sweet) for you. No, not to night. I shall not dine at home: I meet the Captains at the Citadel. Prithee no more: Let him come when he will: I will deny thee nothing. I will deny thee nothing. Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to my self. Farewell my Desdemon, I'll come to thee strait. Excellent wretch: Perdition catch my Soul But I do love thee: and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. What dost thou say, Iago ? He did, from first to last: Why dost thou ask? Why of thy thought, Iago ? Oh yes, and went between us very oft. Indeed? I indeed. Discernest thou ought in that? Is he not honest? Honest? I, Honest. What dost thou think? Think, my Lord? Alas, thou ecchos't me; As if there were some Monster in thy thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something: I herd thee say even now, thou likest not that, When Cassio left my wife. What didst not Like? And when I told thee, he was of my Counsel, Of my whole course of wooing; thou cried'st, Indeed? And didst contract, and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy Brain Some horrible Conceit. If thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. I think thou dost: And for I know thou'rt full of Love, and Honesty, And weighest thy words before thou givest them breath, Therefore these stops of thine, fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal Knave Are tricks of Custom: but in a man that's joust, They're close dilations, working from the heart, That Passion cannot rule. I think so too. Certain, men should be what they seem. Nay, yet there's more in this? I prithee speak to me, as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. Thou dost conspire against thy Friend (Iago) If thou but thinkest him wronged, and makest his ear A stranger to thy Thoughts. What dost thou mean? I'll know thy Thoughts. Would? Oh misery. Why? why is this? Thinkest thou, I'd make a Life of Jealousy; To follow still the changes of the Moon With fresh suspicions? No: to be once in doubt, Is to be resolved: Exchange me for a Goat, When I shall turn the business of my Soul To such exufflicate, and blowed Surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me Jealous, To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of Speech, Sings, Plays, and Dances: Where Virtue is, these are more virtuous. Nor from mine own weak merits, will I draw The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt, For she had eyes, and chosen me. No Iago, I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this, Away at once with Love, or Jealousy. Dost thou say so? And so she did. I am bound to thee for ever. Not a jot, not a jot. I will not. No, not much moved: I do not think but Desdemon is honest. And yet how Nature erring from it self. Farewell, farewell: If more thou dost perceive, let me know more: Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me Iago. Fear not my government. This Fellow's of exceeding honesty, And knows all Quantities with a learned Spirit Of humane dealings. If I do prove her Haggard, Though that her lesses were my deer heartstrings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind To prey at Fortune. Haply, for I am black, And have not those soft parts of Conversation That Chamberers have: Or for I am declined Into the vale of years (yet that's not much) She's gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loath her. O Curse of Marriage! That we can call these delicate Creatures ours, And not their Appetites? I had rather be a Toad, And live upon the vapour of a Dungeon, Then keep a corner in the thing I love For others uses. Yet it's the plague to Great-ones, Prerogative are they less then the Base, It's destiny vnshunnable, Like death: Even then, this forked plague is Fated to us, When we do quicken. Look where she comes: If she be false, Heaven mocked it self: I'll not beleeue't. I am too blame. I have a pain upon my Forehead, here. Your Napkin is too little: Let it alone: Come, I'll go in with you. Would, Would, false to me? Avant, be gone: Thou hast set me on the Rack: I swear it's better to be much abused, Then but to know't a little. What sense had I, in her stolen hours of Lust? I saw't not, thought it not: it harmed not me: I slept the next night well, fed well, was free, and merry. I found not Cassio's kisses on her Lips: He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all. I had been happy, if the general Camp, Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet Body, So I had nothing known. O now, for ever Farewell the Tranquil mind; farewell Content; Farewell the plumed Troops, and the big Wars, That makes Ambition, Virtue! O farewell; Farewell the neighing Steed, and the shrill Trump, The Spirit-stirring Drum, the Eare-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, and all Quality, Pride, Pomp, and Circumstance of glorious War: And Oh you mortal Engines, whose rude throats the immortal Jove's dread Clamours, counterfeit, Farewell: Othello's Occupation's gone. Villain, be sure thou prove my Love a Whore; Be sure of it: Give me the Ocular proof, Or by the worth of mine eternal Soul, Thou hadst been better have been born a Dog Then answer my waked wrath. Make me to see't: or (at the least) so prove it, That the probation bear no Hinge, nor Loop, To hang a doubt on: Or woe upon thy life. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Never pray more: Abandon all remorse On Horrors head, Horrors accumulate: Do deeds to make Heaven weep, all Earth amazed; For nothing canst thou to damnation add, Greater then that. Nay stay: thou shouldst be honest. By the World, I think my Wife be honest, and think she is not: I think that thou art joust, and think thou art not: I'll have some proof. My name that was as fresh As Dians Visage, is now begrimed and black As mine own face. If there be Cords, or Knives, Poison, or Fire, or suffocating streams, I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied. Would? Nay, and I will. Death, and damnation. O! Give me a living reason she's disloyal. Oh monstrous! monstrous! But this denoted a foregone conclusion, It's a shrewed doubt, though it be but a Dream. I'll tear her all to pieces. I gave her such a one: 'twas my first gift. If it be that. O blood, blood, blood. Never Iago. Like to the Ponticke Sea, Whose Icy Current, and compulsive course, Never keeps retiring ebb, but keeps endue on To the Propontic, and the Hellespont: Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace Shall never look back, never ebb to humble Love, Till that a capable, and wide Revenge Swallow them up. Now by yond Marble Heaven, In the endue reverence of a Sacred vow, I here engage my words. I greet thy love, Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, And will upon the instant put thee too't. Within these three days let me hear thee say, That Cassio is not alive. Damn her lewd Minx: Oh damn her, damn her. Come go with me apart, I will withdraw To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair Devil. Now art thou my Lieutenant. Well my good Lady. O hardness to dissemble! How do you, Desdemon ? Give me your hand. This hand is moist my Lady. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart: Hight, hight, and moist. This hand of yours requires A sequester from Liberty: Fasting, and Prayer, Much Castigation, Exercise devout, For here's a young, and sweating Devil here That commonly rebels: It's a good hand, A frank one. A liberal hand. The hearts of old, gave hands: But our new Heraldry is hands, not hearts. What promise, Chuck? I have a salt and sorry Rhewme offends me: Lend me thy Handkerchief. That which I gave you. Not? That's a fault: That Handkerchief Did and Egyptian to my Mother give: She was a Charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it, IT would make her Amiable, and subdue my Father Entirely to her love: But if she lost it, Or made a Gift of it, my Father's eye Should hold her loathed, and his Spirits should hunt After new Fancies. She dying, gave it me, And bid me (when my Fate would have me W u'd) To give it her. I did to; and take heed on't, Make it a Darling, Like your precious eye: To loose't, or giue't away, were such perdition, As nothing else could match. It's true: There's Magic in the web of it: A Sibyl that had numbered in the world The Sun to course, two hundred compasses, In her Prophetticke fury sowed the Work: The Worms were hallowed, that did breed the Silk, And it was died in Mummey, which the Skilful Conserved of Maidens hearts. Most veritable, therefore look too't well. Would? wherefore? Is't lost? Is't gone? Speak, is't out of the way? Say you? How? Fetched, let me see't. Fetch me the Handkerchief, My mind misgives. The Handkerchief. The Handkerchief. Away. Think so, Iago ? And unauthorized kiss? Naked in bed (Iago) and not mean harm? It is hypocrisy against the Devil: They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, The Devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt Heaven. What then? She is Protectress of her honour too: May she give that? Hath he said any thing? What hath he said? With her? O, thou art wise: it's certain. Look how he laughs already. Now he denies it faintly: and laughs it out. Now he importunes him To tell it over: go too, well said, well said. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? So, so, so, so: they laugh, that wins. Have you scoar'd me? Well. Iago becomes me: now he begins the story. Crying o deer Cassio, as it were: his gesture im ports it. Now he tells how she plucked him to my Cham ber: o, I see that nose of yours, but not that dog, I shall throw it to. How shall I murder him, Iago. O, Iago. Was that mine? I would have him nine years a killing: A fine woman, a fair woman, a sweet woman? I will chop her into Messes: Cuckold me? With mine Officer? Good, good: The Justice of it pleases: very good. Fire, and brimstone. Are you wise? Let me see your eyes: look in my face. O pardon me: it'll do me good to walk. Will you walk Sir? O Desdemon. The voice of Cassio Iago keeps his word. It is even so. It's he: Oh brave Iago, honest, and joust, That hast such Noble sense of thy Friends wrong, Thou teachest me. Minion, your deer lies dead, And your unblest Fate highs: Strumpet I come: For of my heart, those Charms thine Eyes, are blotted. Thy Bed lust-stained, shall with Lustest blood be spotted. It is the Cause, it is the Cause (my Soul) Let me not name it to you, you chaste Stars, It is the Cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood, Nor scar that whiter skin of hers, then Snow And smooth as Monumental Alabaster: Yet she must die, else shee'l betray more men: Put out the Light, and then put out the Light: If I quench thee, thou flaming Minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me. But once put out thy Light, Thou cunningest Pattern of excelling Nature, I know not where is that Promethae heat That can thy Light re-Lume. When I have plucked thy Rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell thee on the Tree. O Balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her Sword. One more, one more: Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, And love thee after. One more, and that's the last. So sweet, was never so fatal. I must weep, But they are cruel Tears: This sorrow's heavenly, It strikes, where it does love. She wakes. Have you prayed to night, Desdemon ? If you bethink your self of any Crime Unreconciled as yet to Heaven, and Grace, Solicit for it straight. Well, do it, and be brief, I will walk by: I would not kill thy unprepared Spirit, No, Heavens forefend) I would not kill thy Soul. I, I do. Amen, with all my heart. Humh. Think on thy sins. I, and for that thou diest. Peace, and be still. That Handkerchief Which I so loved, and gave thee, thou gavest to Cassio. Sweet Soul, take heed, take heed of Perjury, Thou art on thy deathbed. Presently. Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin: For to deny each Article with Oath, Cannot remove, nor choke the strong Conception That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. I say, Amen. By Heaven I saw my Handkerchief in's hand. Oh perjured woman, thou dost stone my heart, And makes me call, what I intend to do, A Murder, which I thought a Sacrifice. I saw the Handkerchief. He hath confessed. That he hath used thee. I. No: his mouth is stopped: Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't. Had all his hairs been lives, my great Revenge Had stomach for them all. Out Strumpet: weepest thou for him to my face? Down Strumpet. Nay, if you strive. Being done, there is no pause. It is too late. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead? I that am cruel, am yet merciful, I would not have thee linger in thy pain? So, so. Who's there? Yes: It's Aemilia : by and by. She's dead. It's Like she comes to speak of Cassio is death: The noise was high. Hah, no more moving? Still as the Grave. Shall he come in? Were't good? I think she stirs again. No, what's best to do? If she come in, shee'l sure speak to my wife: My wife, my wife: what wife? I have no wife. O insupportable! O heavy hour! Me thinks, it should be now a huge Eclipse Of Sun, and Moon; and that the affrighted Globe Did yawn at Alteration. I had forgotten thee: o come in Aemilia. Soft, by and by, let me the Curtains draw. Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now? What? now? It is the very error of the Moon, She comes more nearer Earth then she was wont, And makes men mad. Rodorigo killed? and Cassio killed? Not Cassio killed? Then Murder's out of tune, And sweet Revenge grows harsh. That? What? Why, how should she be murdered? You hear her say her self, it was not I. She's Like a Liar gone to burning hell, 'Twas I that killed her. She turned to folly: and she was a whore. She uva false as water. Cassio did top her: Ask thy husband else. Oh, I were damned beneath all depth in hell: But that I did proceed upon joust grounds To this extremity. Thy Husband knew it all. Thy Husband. I, with Cassio: had she been true, If Heaven would make me such another world, Of one entire and perfect Chrysolite, I'd not have sold her for it. I, 'twas he that told me on her first, And honest man he is, and hates the slime That sticks on filthy deeds. What needs this itterance, Woman? I say, thy Husband. He, Woman; I say thy Husband: Dost understand the word? My Friend, thy Husband; honest, honest Iago. Hah? Peace, you were best. O, o, o. O she was fowl! I scarce did know you Uncle, there lies your Niece, Whose breath (indeed) these hands have newly stopped: I know this act shows horrible and grim. It's pitiful: but yet Iago knows That she with Cassio, hath the Act of shame A thousand times committed. Cassio confessed it, And she did gratify his amorous works With that Recognizance and pledge of Love Which I first gave her: I saw it in his hand: It was a Handkerchief, and Antique Token My Father gave my Mother. Are there no stones in Heaven, But what serves for the Thunder? Precious Villain. I am not valiant neither: But every Puny whipster gets my Sword. But why should Honour outlive Honesty? Let it go all. I have another weapon in this Chamber, It was a Sword of Spain, the Ice brooks temper: O here it is: Uncle I must come forth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or naked as I am I will assault thee. That's he that was Othello: here I am. I look down towards his feet; but that's a Fable, If that thou be'st a Devil, I cannot kill thee. Why any thing: And honourable Murderer, if you will: For nought I did in hate, but all in Honour. I. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon: Will you, I pray, demand that demy-Diuell, Why he hath thus ensnared my Soul and Body. Well, thou dost best. Oh Villain! O thou pernicious Caitiff; How came you (Cassio) by that Handkerchief That was my wives? Soft you; a word or two before you go: I have done the State some service, and they know't: No more of that. I pray you in your Letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me, as I am. Nothing extenuate, Nor set down ought in malice. Then must you speak, Of one that loved not wisely, but too well: Of one, not easily Jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme: Of one, whose hand (Like the base Judean) threw a Pearl away Richer then all his Tribe: Of one, whose subdued Eyes, Albeit unused to the melting mood, Drops tears as fast as the Arabian Trees Their Medicinable gum. Set you down this: And say beside, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant, and a Turbond-Turke Beat a Venetian, and traduced the State, I took by the throat the circumcised Dog, And smoate him, thus. I kissed thee, ere I killed thee: No way but this, Killing my self, to die upon a kiss. O I, as Summer Flies are in the Shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed: Who art so lovely fair, and smellest so sweet, That the Sense akes at thee, Would thou hadst never been born.