I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me: but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d the rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again.
It must needs wither: I’ll smell it on the tree.
Kissing her
Ah 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 this the last:
So sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow’s heavenly;
It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.
Desdemona
Who’s there? Othello?
Othello
Ay. Desdemona.
Desdemona
Will you come to bed, my lord?
Othello
Have you pray’d to-night, Desdemona?
Desdemona
Ay, my lord.
Othello
If you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.
Desdemona
Alas, my lord, what do you mean by that?
Othello
Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
No; heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.
Desdemona
Talk you of killing?
Othello
Ay, I do.
Desdemona
Then heaven
Have mercy on me!
Othello
Amen, with all my heart!
Desdemona
If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.
Othello
Hum!
Desdemona
And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then
When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,
Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear.
Othello
Think on thy sins.
Desdemona
They are loves I bear to you.
Othello
Ay, and for that thou diest.
Desdemona
That death’s unnatural that kills for loving.
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame:
These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me.
Othello
Peace, and be still!
Desdemona
I will so. What’s the matter?
Othello
That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
Thou gavest to Cassio.
Desdemona
No, by my life and soul!
Send for the man, and ask him.
Othello
Sweet soul, take heed,
Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy deathbed.
Desdemona
Ay, but not yet to die.
Othello
Yes, 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.
Desdemona
Then Lord have mercy on me!
Othello
I say, amen.
Desdemona
And have you mercy too! I never did
Offend you in my life; never loved Cassio
But with such general warranty of heaven
As I might love: I never gave him token.
Othello
By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in’s hand.
O perjured woman! thou dost stone my heart,
And makest me call what I intend to do
A murder, which I thought a sacrifice:
I saw the handkerchief.
Desdemona
He found it then;
I never gave it him: send for him hither;
Let him confess a truth.
Othello
He hath confess’d.
Desdemona
What, my lord?
Othello
That he hath used thee.
Desdemona
How? unlawfully?
Othello
Ay.
Desdemona
He will not say so.
Othello
No, his mouth is stopp’d;
Honest Iago hath ta’en order for’t.
Desdemona
O! my fear interprets: what, is he dead?
Othello
Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
Had stomach for them all.
Desdemona
Alas! he is betray’d and I undone.
Othello
Out, strumpet! weep’st thou for him to my face?
Desdemona
O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!
Othello
Down, strumpet!
Desdemona
Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night!
Othello
Nay, if you strive —
Desdemona
But half an hour!
Othello
Being done, there is no pause.
Desdemona
But while I say one prayer!
Othello
It is too late.
He stifles her
Emilia
[Within] My lord , my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!
Othello
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.
Emilia
[Within] What, ho! my lord, my lord!
Othello
Who’s there?
Emilia
[Within] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!
Othello
Yes: ’tis Emilia. By and by. She’s dead.
’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death.—
The noise was here. Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were’t good?—
I think she stirs again:— no. What’s best to do?
If she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife:
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O insupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.
Emilia
[Within] I do beseech you
That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!
Othello
I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia;
Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou?
Unlocks the door
Enter Emilia
What’s the matter with thee now?
Emilia
O, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done!
Othello
What, now?
Emilia
But now, my lord.
Othello
It is the very error of the moon;
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,
And makes men mad.
Emilia
Cassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian
Call’d Roderigo.
Othello
Roderigo kill’d!
And Cassio kill’d!
Emilia
No, Cassio is not kill’d.
Othello
Not Cassio kill’d! then murder’s out of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.
Desdemona
O, falsely, false
ly murder’d!
Emilia
Alas, what cry is that?
Othello
That! what?
Emilia
Out, and alas! that was my lady’s voice.
Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again!
Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!
Desdemona
A guiltless death I die.
Emilia
O, who hath done this deed?
Desdemona
Nobody; I myself. Farewell
Commend me to my kind lord: O, farewell!
Dies
Othello
Why, how should she be murder’d?
Emilia
Alas, who knows?
Othello
You heard her say herself, it was not I.
Emilia
She said so: I must needs report the truth.
Othello
She’s, like a liar, gone to burning hell:
’Twas I that kill’d her.
Emilia
O, the more angel she,
And you the blacker devil!
Othello
She turn’d to folly, and she was a whore.
Emilia
Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.
Othello
She was false as water.
Emilia
Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false: O, she was heavenly true!
Othello
Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
O, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.
Emilia
My husband!
Othello
Thy husband.
Emilia
That she was false to wedlock?
Othello
Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and Perfect chrysolite,
I’ld not have sold her for it.
Emilia
My husband!
Othello
Ay, ’twas he that told me first:
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.
Emilia
My husband!
Othello
What needs this iteration, woman? I say thy husband.
Emilia
O mistress, villany hath made mocks with love,
My husband say that she was false!
Othello
He, woman;
I say thy husband: dost understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.
Emilia
If he say so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart:
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.
Othello
Ha!
Emilia
Do thy worst:
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
Than thou wast worthy her.
Othello
Peace, you were best.
Emilia
Thou hast not half that power to do me harm
As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!
As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed —
I care not for thy sword; I’ll make thee known,
Though I lost twenty lives.— Help! help, ho! help!
The Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder! murder!
Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others
Montano
What is the matter? How now, general!
Emilia
O, are you come, Iago? you have done well,
That men must lay their murders on your neck.
Gratiano
What is the matter?
Emilia
Disprove this villain, if thou be’st a man:
He says thou told’st him that his wife was false:
I know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain:
Speak, for my heart is full.
Iago
I told him what I thought, and told no more
Than what he found himself was apt and true.
Emilia
But did you ever tell him she was false?
Iago
I did.
Emilia
You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
She false with Cassio!— did you say with Cassio?
Iago
With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.
Emilia
I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak:
My mistress here lies murder’d in her bed,—
All
O heavens forfend!
Emilia
And your reports have set the murder on.
Othello
Nay, stare not, masters: it is true, indeed.
Gratiano
’Tis a strange truth.
Montano
O monstrous act!
Emilia
Villany, villany, villany!
I think upon’t, I think: I smell’t: O villany!—
I thought so then:— I’ll kill myself for grief:—
O villany, villany!
Iago
What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.
Emilia
Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak:
’Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
Perchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home.
Othello
O! O! O!
He falls on the bed
Emilia
Nay, lay thee down and roar;
For thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent
That e’er did lift up eye.
Othello
[Rising] O, she was foul!
I scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your niece,
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp’d:
I know this act shows horrible and grim.
Gratiano
Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead:
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now,
This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
And fall to reprobation.
Othello
’Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
A thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d 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, an antique token
My father gave my mother.
Emilia
O heaven! O heavenly powers!
Iago
Come, hold your peace.
Emilia
’Twill out, ’twill out: I peace!
No, I will speak as liberal as the north:
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.
Iago
Be wise, and get you home.
Emilia
I will not.
Iago offers to stab Emilia
Gratiano
Fie!
Your sword upon a woman?
Emilia
O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou speak’st of
I found by fortune and did give my husband;
For often, with a solemn earnestness,
More than indeed belong’d to such a trifle,
He begg’d of me to steal it.
Iago
Villanous whore!
Emilia
She give it Cassio! no, alas! I found it,
And I did give’t my husband.
Filth, thou liest!
Emilia
By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
O murderous coxcomb! what should such a fool
Do with so good a woman?
Othello
Are there no stones in heaven
But what serve for the thunder?— Precious villain!
He runs at Iago Iago, from behind, stabs Emilia, and exit
Gratiano
The woman falls; sure, he hath kill’d his wife.
Emilia
Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress’ side.
Gratiano
He’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d.
Montano
’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
Which I have here recover’d from the Moor:
Come, guard the door without; let him not pass,
But kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain,
For ’tis a damned slave.
Exeunt Montano and Gratiano
Othello
I am not valiant neither,
But ever puny whipster gets my sword:
But why should honour outlive honesty?
Let it go all.
Emilia
What did thy song bode, lady?
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan.
And die in music.
Singing
Willow, willow, willow,—
Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, I die, I die.
Dies
Othello
I have another weapon in this chamber;
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper:—
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.
Gratiano
[Within] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear:
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.
Othello
Look in upon me then and speak with me,
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.
Re-enter Gratiano
Gratiano
What is the matter?
Othello
Behold, I have a weapon;
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day,
That, with this little arm and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop: but, O vain boast!
Who can control his fate? ’tis not so now.
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d;
Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismay’d? ’tis a lost fear;
Man but a rush against Othello’s breast,
And he retires. Where should Othello go?
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench!
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave!
Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead!
Complete Plays, The Page 97
