Othe. Bid her come hither: go.
Exit aemilia.
She saies enough: yet she's a simple BaudThat cannot say as much. This is a subtile Whore:A Closset Locke and Key of Villanous Secrets,And yet she'le kneele, and pray: I haue seene her do't.Enter Desdemona, and aemilia.
Des. My Lord, what is your will?Othe. Pray you Chucke come hither
Des. What is your pleasure?Oth. Let me see your eyes: looke in my face
Des. What horrible Fancie's this?Othe. Some of your Function Mistris:Leaue Procreants alone, and shut the doore:Cough, or cry hem; if any body come:Your Mystery, your Mystery: May dispatch.
Exit aemi.
Des. Vpon my knee, what doth your speech import?I vnderstand a Fury in your words
Othe. Why? What art thou?Des. Your wife my Lord: your true and loyall wife
Othello. Come sweare it: damne thy selfe, least being like one of Heauen, the diuells themselues should feare to ceaze thee. Therefore be double damn'd: sweare thou art honest
Des. Heauen doth truely know it
Othe. Heauen truely knowes, that thou art false as hell
Des. To whom my Lord?With whom? How am I false?Othe. Ah Desdemon, away, away, away
Des. Alas the heauy day: why do you weepe?Am I the motiue of these teares my Lord?If happely you my Father do suspect,An Instrument of this your calling backe,Lay not your blame on me: if you haue lost him,I haue lost him too
Othe. Had it pleas'd Heauen,To try me with Affliction, had they rain'dAll kind of Sores, and Shames on my bare-head:Steep'd me in pouertie to the very lippes.Giuen to Captiuitie, me, and my vtmost hopes,I should haue found in some place of my SouleA drop of patience. But alas, to make meThe fixed Figure for the time of Scorne,To point his slow, and mouing finger at.Yet could I beare that too, well, very well:But there where I haue garnerd vp my heart,Where either I must liue, or beare no life,The Fountaine from the which my currant runnes,Or else dries vp: to be discarded thence,Or keepe it as a Cesterne, for foule ToadesTo knot and gender in. Turne thy complexion there:Patience, thou young and Rose-lip'd Cherubin,I heere looke grim as hell
Des. I hope my Noble Lord esteemes me honest
Othe. Oh I, as Sommer Flyes are in the Shambles,That quicken euen with blowing. Oh thou weed:Who art so louely faire, and smell'st so sweete,That the Sense akes at thee,Would thou had'st neuer bin borne
Des. Alas, what ignorant sin haue I committed?Othe. Was this faire Paper? This most goodly BookeMade to write Whore vpon? What commited,Committed? Oh, thou publicke Commoner,I should make very Forges of my cheekes,That would to Cynders burne vp Modestie,Did I but speake thy deedes. What commited?Heauen stoppes the Nose at it, and the Moone winks:The baudy winde that kisses all it meetes,Is hush'd within the hollow Myne of EarthAnd will not hear't. What commited?Des. By Heauen you do me wrong
Othe. Are not you a Strumpet?Des. No, as I am a Christian.If to preserue this vessell for my Lord,From any other foule vnlawfull touchBe not to be a Strumpet, I am none
Othe. What, not a Whore?Des. No, as I shall be sau'd
Othe. Is't possible?Des. Oh Heauen forgiue vs
Othe. I cry you mercy then.I tooke you for that cunning Whore of Venice,That married with Othello. You Mistris,Enter aemilia.
That haue the office opposite to Saint Peter,And keepes the gate of hell. You, you: I you.We haue done our course: there's money for your paines:I pray you turne the key, and keepe our counsaile.Enter.
Aemil. Alas, what do's this Gentleman conceiue?How do you Madam? how do you my good Lady?Des. Faith, halfe a sleepe
Aemi. Good Madam,What's the matter with my Lord?Des. With who?Aemil. Why, with my Lord, Madam?Des. Who is thy Lord?Aemil. He that is yours, sweet Lady
Des. I haue none: do not talke to me, aemilia,I cannot weepe: nor answeres haue I none,But what should go by water. Prythee to night,Lay on my bed my wedding sheetes, remember,And call thy husband hither.Aemil. Heere's a change indeed.Enter.
Des. 'Tis meete I should be vs'd so: very meete.How haue I bin behau'd, that he might stickeThe small'st opinion on my least misvse?Enter Iago, and aemilia.
Iago. What is your pleasure Madam?How is't with you?Des. I cannot tell: those that do teach yong BabesDo it with gentle meanes, and easie taskes.He might haue chid me so; for in good faithI am a Child to chiding
Iago. What is the matter Lady?Aemil. Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhor'd her,Throwne such dispight, and heauy termes vpon herThat true hearts cannot beare it
Des. Am I that name, Iago?Iago. What name, (faire Lady?)Des. Such as she said my Lord did say I was.Aemil. He call'd her whore: a Begger in his drinke:Could not haue laid such termes vpon his Callet
Iago. Why did he so?Des. I do not know: I am sure I am none such
Iago. Do not weepe, do not weepe: alas the day.Aemil. Hath she forsooke so many Noble Matches?Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends?To be call'd Whore? Would it not make one weepe?Des. It is my wretched Fortune
Iago. Beshrew him for't:How comes this Tricke vpon him?Des. Nay, Heauen doth know
Aemi. I will be hang'd, if some eternall Villaine,Some busie and insinuating Rogue,Some cogging, cozening Slaue, to get some Office,Haue not deuis'd this Slander: I will be hang'd else
Iago. Fie, there is no such man: it is impossible
Des. If any such there be, Heauen pardon him.Aemil. A halter pardon him:And hell gnaw his bones.Why should he call her Whore?Who keepes her companie?What Place? What Time?What Forme? What liklyhood?The Moore's abus'd by some most villanous Knaue,Some base notorious Knaue, some scuruy Fellow.Oh Heauens, that such companions thou'd'st vnfold,And put in euery honest hand a whipTo lash the Rascalls naked through the world,Euen from the East to th' West
Iago. Speake within doore.Aemil. Oh fie vpon them: some such Squire he wasThat turn'd your wit, the seamy-side without,And made you to suspect me with the Moore
Iago. You are a Foole: go too
Des. Alas Iago,What shall I do to win my Lord againe?Good Friend, go to him: for by this light of Heauen,I know not how I lost him. Heere I kneele:If ere my will did trespasse 'gainst his Loue,Either in discourse of thought, or actuall deed,Or that mine Eyes, mine Eares, or any SenceDelighted them: or any other Forme.Or that I do not yet, and euer did,And euer will, (though he do shake me offTo beggerly diuorcement) Loue him deerely,Comfort forsweare me. Vnkindnesse may do much,And his vnkindnesse may defeat my life,But neuer taynt my Loue. I cannot say Whore,It do's abhorre me now I speake the word,To do the Act, that might the addition earne,Not the worlds Masse of vanitie could make me
Iago. I pray you be content: 'tis but his humour:The businesse of the State do's him offence
Des. If 'twere no other
Iago. It is but so, I warrant,Hearke how these Instruments summon to supper:The Messengers of Venice staies the meate,Go in, and weepe not: all things shall be well.
Exeunt. Desdemona and aemilia.
Enter Rodorigo.
How now Rodorigo?Rod. I do not findeThat thou deal'st iustly with me
Iago. What in the contrarie? Rodori. Euery day thou dafts me with some deuise Iago, and rather, as it seemes to me now, keep'st from me all conueniencie, then suppliest me with the least aduantage of hope: I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am I yet perswaded to put vp in peace, what already I haue foolishly suffred
Iago. Will you heare me Rodorigo?Rodori. I haue heard too much: and your words andPerformances are no kin together
Iago. You charge me most vniustly
Rodo. With naught but truth: I haue wasted my selfe out of my meanes. The Iewels you haue had from me to deliuer Desdemona, would halfe haue corrupted a Votarist. You haue told me she hath receiu'd them, and return'd me expectations and comforts of sodaine respect, and acquaintance, but I finde none
Iago. Well, go too: very well
Rod. Very well, go too: I cannot go too, (man) nor 'tis not very well. Nay I think it is scuruy: and begin to finde my selfe fopt in it
Iago. Very well
Rodor. I tell you, 'tis not very well: I will make my selfe knowne to Desdemona. If she will returne me my Iewels, I will giue ouer my Suit, and repent my vnlawfull solicitation. If not, assure your selfe, I will seeke satisfaction of you
Iago. You haue said now
Rodo. I: and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing
Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee: and euen from this instant do build on thee a better opinion then euer before: giue me thy hand Rodorigo. Thou hast taken against me a most iust exception: but yet I protest I haue dealt most directly in thy Affaire
Rod. It hath not appeer'd
Iago. I grant indeed it hath not appeer'd: and your suspition is not without wit and iudgement. But Rodorigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which I haue greater reason to beleeue now then euer (I meane purpose, Courage, and Valour) this night shew it. If thou the next night following enioy not Desdemona, take me from this world with Treacherie, and deuise Engines for my life
Rod. Well: what is it? Is it within, reason and compasse?Iago. Sir, there is especiall Commission come fromVenice to depute Cassio in Othello's place
Rod. Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemonareturne againe to Venice
Iago. Oh no: he goes into Mauritania and taketh away with him the faire Desdemona, vnlesse his abode be lingred heere by some accident. Wherein none can be so determinate, as the remouing of Cassio
Rod. How do you meane remouing him?Iago. Why, by making him vncapable of Othello'splace: knocking out his braines
Rod. And that you would haue me to do
Iago. I: if you dare do your selfe a profit, and a right. He sups to night with a Harlotry: and thither will I go to him. He knowes not yet of his Honourable Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which I will fashion to fall out betweene twelue and one) you may take him at your pleasure. I will be neere to second your Attempt, and he shall fall betweene vs. Come, stand not amaz'd at it, but go along with me: I will shew you such a necessitie in his death, that you shall thinke your selfe bound to put it on him. It is now high supper time: and the night growes to wast. About it
Rod. I will heare further reason for this
Iago. And you shalbe satisfi'd.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Othello, Lodouico, Desdemona, aemilia, and Atendants.
Lod. I do beseech you Sir, trouble your selfe no further
Oth. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walke
Lodoui. Madam, good night: I humbly thanke yourLadyship
Des. Your Honour is most welcome
Oth. Will you walke Sir? Oh Desdemona
Des. My Lord
Othello. Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be return'dforthwith: dismisse your Attendant there: look'tbe done.Enter.
Des. I will my Lord
Aem. How goes it now? He lookes gentler then he did
Des. He saies he will returne incontinent,And hath commanded me to go to bed,And bid me to dismisse you
Aemi. Dismisse me?Des. It was his bidding: therefore good aemilia,Giue me my nightly wearing, and adieu.We must not now displease him.Aemil. I, would you had neuer seene him
Des. So would not I: my loue doth so approue him,That euen his stubbornesse, his checks, his frownes,(Prythee vn-pin me) haue grace and fauour
Aemi. I haue laid those Sheetes you bad me on the bed
Des. All's one: good Father, how foolish are our minds?If I do die before, prythee shrow'd meIn one of these same Sheetes.Aemil. Come, come: you talke
Des. My Mother had a Maid call'd Barbarie,She was in loue: and he she lou'd prou'd mad,And did forsake her. She had a Song of Willough,An old thing 'twas: but it express'd her Fortune,And she dy'd singing it. That Song to night,Will not go from my mind: I haue much to do,But to go hang my head all at one sideAnd sing it like poore Barbarie: prythee dispatch
Aemi. Shall I go fetch your Night-gowne?Des. No, vn-pin me here,This Lodouico is a proper man.Aemil. A very handsome man
Des. He speakes well. Aemil. I know a Lady in Venice would haue walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip
Des. The poore Soule sat singing, by a Sicamour tree.Sing all a greene Willough:Her hand on her bosome her head on her knee,Sing Willough, Willough, Willough.The fresh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanesSing Willough, &c.Her salt teares fell from her, and softned the stones,Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by these)Willough, Willough. (Prythee high thee: he'le come anon)Sing all a greene Willough must be my Garland.Let no body blame him, his scorne I approue.(Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks?Aemil. It's the wind
Des. I call'd my Loue false Loue: but what said he then?Sing Willough, &c.If I court mo women, you'le couch with mo men.So get thee gone, good night: mine eyes do itch:Doth that boade weeping?Aemil. 'Tis neyther heere, nor there
Des. I haue heard it said so. O these Men, these men!Do'st thou in conscience thinke (tell me aemilia)That there be women do abuse their husbandsIn such grosse kinde?Aemil. There be some such, no question
Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?Aemil. Why, would not you?Des. No, by this Heauenly light.Aemil. Nor I neither, by this Heauenly light:I might doo't as well i'th' darke
Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for al the world?Aemil. The world's a huge thing:It is a great price, for a small vice
Des. Introth, I thinke thou would'st not. Aemil. Introth I thinke I should, and vndoo't when I had done. Marry, I would not doe such a thing for a ioynt Ring, nor for measures of Lawne, nor for Gownes, Petticoats, nor Caps, nor any petty exhibition. But for all the whole world: why, who would not make her husband a Cuckold, to make him a Monarch? I should venture Purgatory for't
Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong For the whole world. Aemil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world; and hauing the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your owne world, and you might quickly make it right
Des. I do not thinke there is any such woman.Aemil. Yes, a dozen: and as many to'th' vantage, aswould store the world they plaid for.But I do thinke it is their Husbands faultsIf Wiues do fall: (Say, that they slacke their duties,And powre our Treasures into forraigne laps;Or else breake out in peeuish Iealousies,Throwing restraint vpon vs: Or say they strike vs,Or scant our former hauing in despight)Why we haue galles: and though we haue some Grace,Yet haue we some Reuenge. Let Husbands know,Their wiues haue sense like them: They see, and smell,And haue their Palats both for sweet, and sowre,As Husbands haue. What is it that they do,When they change vs for others? Is it Sport?I thinke it is: and doth Affection breed it?I thinke it doth. Is't Frailty that thus erres?It is so too. And haue not we Affections?Desires for Sport? and Frailty, as men haue?Then let them vse vs well: else let them know,The illes we do, their illes instruct vs so
Des. Good night, good night:Heauen me such vses send,Not to picke bad, from bad; but by bad, mend.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Iago, and Rodorigo.
Iago. Heere, stand behinde this Barke,Straight will he come:Weare thy good Rapier bare, and put it home:Quicke, quicke, feare nothing; Ile be at thy Elbow,It makes vs, or it marres vs, thinke on that,And fixe most firme thy Resolution
Rod. Be neere at hand, I may miscarry in't
Iago. Heere, at thy hand: Be bold, & take thy stand
Rod. I haue no great deuotion to the deed,And yet he hath giuen me satisfying Reasons:'Tis but a man gone. Forth my Sword: he dies
Iago. I haue rub'd this yong Quat almost to the sense,And he growes angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,Euery way makes my gaine. Liue Rodorigo,He calles me to a restitution largeOf Gold, and Iewels, that I bob'd from him,As Guifts to Desdemona.It must not be: If Cassio do remaine,He hath a dayly beauty in his life,That makes me vgly: and besides, the MooreMay vnfold me to him: there stand I in much perill:No, he must dye. But so, I heard him comming.Enter Cassio.
Rod. I know his gate, 'tis he: Villaine thou dyest
Cas. That thrust had beene mine enemy indeed,But that my Coate is better then thou know'st:I will make proofe of thine
Rod. Oh, I am slaine
Cassio. I am maym'd for euer:Helpe hoa: Murther, murther.Enter Othello.
Oth. The voyce of Cassio. Iago keepes his word
Rod. O Villaine that I am
Oth. It is euen so
Cas. Oh helpe hoa: Light, a Surgeon
Oth. 'Tis he: O braue Iago, honest, and iust,That hast such Noble sense of thy Friends wrong,Thou teachest me. Minion, your deere lyes dead,And your vnblest Fate highes: Strumpet I come:For of my heart, those Charmes thine Eyes, are blotted.Thy Bed lust-stain'd, shall with Lusts blood bee spotted.
Exit Othello.
Enter Lodouico and Gratiano.
Cas. What hoa? no Watch? No passage?Murther, Murther
Gra. 'Tis some mischance, the voyce is very direfull
Cas. Oh helpe
Lodo. Hearke
Rod. Oh wretched Villaine
Lod. Two or three groane. 'Tis heauy night;These may be counterfeits: Let's think't vnsafeTo come into the cry, without more helpe
Rod. Nobody come: then shall I bleed to death.Enter Iago.
Lod. Hearke
Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with Light, andWeapons
Iago. Who's there?Who's noyse is this that cries on murther?Lodo. We do not know
Iago. Do not you heare a cry?Cas. Heere, heere: for heauen sake helpe me
Iago. What's the matter?Gra. This is Othello's Ancient, as I take it
Lodo. The same indeede, a very valiant Fellow
Iago. What are you heere, that cry so greeuously?Cas. Iago? Oh I am spoyl'd, vndone by Villaines:Giue me some helpe
Iago. O mee, Lieutenant!What Villaines haue done this?Cas. I thinke that one of them is heereabout.And cannot make away
Iago. Oh treacherous Villaines:What are you there? Come in, and giue some helpe
Rod. O helpe me there
Cassio. That's one of them
Iago. Oh murd'rous Slaue! O Villaine!Rod. O damn'd Iago! O inhumane Dogge!Iago. Kill men i'th' darke?Where be these bloody Theeues?How silent is this Towne? Hoa, murther, murther.What may you be? Are you of good, or euill?Lod. As you shall proue vs, praise vs
Iago. Signior Lodouico?Lod. He Sir
Iago. I cry you mercy: here's Cassio hurt by Villaines
Gra. Cassio?Iago. How is't Brother?Cas. My Legge is cut in two
Iago. Marry heauen forbid:Light Gentlemen, Ile binde it with my shirt.Enter Bianca.
Bian. What is the matter hoa? Who is't that cry'd?Iago. Who is't that cry'd?Bian. Oh my deere Cassio,My sweet Cassio: Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio
Iago. O notable Strumpet. Cassio, may you suspectWho they should be, that haue thus mangled you?Cas. No
Gra. I am sorry to finde you thus;I haue beene to seeke you
Iago. Lend me a Garter. So: - Oh for a ChaireTo beare him easily hence
Bian. Alas he faints. Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio
Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this TrashTo be a party in this Iniurie.Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;Lend me a Light: know we this face, or no?Alas my Friend, and my deere CountrymanRodorigo? No: Yes sure: Yes, 'tis Rodorigo
Gra. What, of Venice?Iago. Euen he Sir: Did you know him?Gra. Know him? I
Iago. Signior Gratiano? I cry your gentle pardon:These bloody accidents must excuse my Manners,That so neglected you
Gra. I am glad to see you
Iago. How do you Cassio? Oh, a Chaire, a Chaire
Gra. Rodorigo?Iago. He, he, 'tis he:Oh that's well said, the Chaire.Some good man beare him carefully from hence,Ile fetch the Generall's Surgeon. For you Mistris,Saue you your labour. He that lies slaine heere (Cassio)Was my deere friend. What malice was between you
Cas. None in the world: nor do I know the man?Iago. What? looke you pale? Oh beare him o'th' Ayre.Stay you good Gentlemen. Looke you pale, Mistris?Do you perceiue the gastnesse of her eye?Nay, if you stare, we shall heare more anon.Behold her well: I pray you looke vpon her:Do you see Gentlemen? Nay, guiltinesse will speakeThough tongues were out of vse.Aemil. Alas, what is the matter?What is the matter, Husband?Iago. Cassio hath heere bin set on in the darkeBy Rodorigo, and Fellowes that are scap'd:He's almost slaine, and Rodorigo quite dead.Aemil. Alas good Gentleman: alas good Cassio
Iago. This is the fruits of whoring. Prythe aemilia,Go know of Cassio where he supt to night.What, do you shake at that?Bian. He supt at my house, but I therefore shake not
Iago. O did he so? I charge you go with me.Aemil. Oh fie vpon thee Strumpet
Bian. I am no Strumpet, but of life as honest,As you that thus abuse me.Aemil. As I? Fie vpon thee
Iago. Kinde Gentlemen:Let's go see poore Cassio drest.Come Mistris, you must tel's another Tale.aemilia, run you to the Cittadell,And tell my Lord and Lady, what hath happ'd:Will you go on afore? This is the nightThat either makes me, or foredoes me quight.
Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda.
Enter Othello, and Desdemona in her bed.
Oth. It is the Cause, it is the Cause (my Soule)Let me not name it to you, you chaste Starres,It is the Cause. Yet Ile not shed her blood,Nor scarre that whiter skin of hers, then Snow,And smooth as Monumentall Alablaster:Yet she must dye, 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 againe thy former light restore,Should I repent me. But once put out thy Light,Thou cunning'st Patterne of excelling Nature,I know not where is that Promethaean heateThat can thy Light re-Lume.When I haue pluck'd thy Rose,I cannot giue it vitall growth againe,It needs must wither. Ile smell thee on the Tree.Oh Balmy breath, that dost almost perswadeIustice to breake her Sword. One more, one more:Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,And loue thee after. One more, and that's the last.So sweet, was ne're so fatall. I must weepe,But they are cruell Teares: This sorrow's heauenly,It strikes, where it doth loue. She wakes
Des. Who's there? Othello?Othel. I Desdemona
Des. Will you come to bed, my Lord?Oth. Haue you pray'd to night, Desdemon?Des. I my Lord
Oth. If you bethinke your selfe of any CrimeVnreconcil'd as yet to Heauen, and Grace,Solicite for it straight
Des. Alacke, my Lord,What may you meane by that?Oth. Well, do it, and be breefe, I will walke by:I would not kill thy vnprepared Spirit,No, Heauens fore-fend) I would not kill thy Soule
Des. Talke you of killing?Oth. I, I do
Des. Then Heauen haue mercy on mee
Oth. Amen, with all my heart
Des. If you say, I hope you will not kill me
Oth. Humh
Des. And yet I feare you: for you're fatall thenWhen your eyes rowle so.Why I should feare, I know not,Since guiltinesse I know not: But yet I feele I feare
Oth. Thinke on thy sinnes
Des. They are Loues I beare to you
Oth. I, and for that thou dy'st
Des. That death's vnnaturall, that kils for louing.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
Oth. Peace, and be still
Des. I will so: What's the matter?Oth. That HandkerchiefeWhich I so lou'd, and gaue thee, thou gau'st to Cassio
Des. No by my Life, and Soule: send for the man,And aske him
Oth. Sweet Soule, take heed, take heed of Periury,Thou art on thy death-bed
Des. I, but not yet to dye
Oth. Presently.Therefore confesse thee freely of thy sinne:For to deny each Article with Oath,Cannot remoue, nor choake the strong ConceptionThat I do grone withall. Thou art to dye
Des. O Heauen haue mercy on me
Oth. I say, Amen
Des. And haue you mercy too. I neuer didOffend you in my life: neuer lou'd Cassio,But with such generall warrantie of Heauen,As I might loue. I neuer gaue him Token
Oth. By Heauen I saw my Handkerchiefe in's hand.O periur'd woman, thou do'st stone my heart,And makes me call, what I intend to do,A Murther, which I thought a Sacrifice.I saw the Handkerchiefe
Des. He found it then:I neuer gaue it him: Send, for him hither:Let him confesse a truth
Oth. He hath confest
Des. What, my Lord?Oth. That he hath vs'd thee
Des. How? vnlawfully?Oth. I
Des. He will not say so
Oth. No: his mouth is stopp'd:Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't
Des. Oh, my feare interprets. What is he dead?Oth. Had all his haires bin liues, my great ReuengeHad stomacke for them all
Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I vndone
Oth. Out Strumpet: weep'st thou for him to my face?Des. O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not
Oth. Downe Strumpet
Des. Kill me to morrow, let me liue to night
Oth. Nay, if you striue
Des. But halfe an houre
Oth. Being done, there is no pawse
Des. But while I say one prayer
Oth. It is too late.
Smothers her.
aemilia at the doore.
Aemil. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa?My Lord, my Lord
Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?I that am cruell, am yet mercifull,I would not haue thee linger in thy paine?So, so.Aemil. within. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord?Oth. Who's there?Aemil. Oh good my Lord, I would speake a wordwith you
Oth. Yes: 'Tis aemilia: by and by. Shee's dead.'Tis like she comes to speake of Cassio's death:The noise was high. Hah, no more moouing?Still as the Graue. Shall she come in? Wer't good?I thinke she stirres againe. No, what's best to do?If she come in, shee'l sure speake to my wife:My wife, my wife: what wife? I haue no wife.Oh insupportable! Oh heauy houre!Me thinkes, it should be now a huge EclipseOf Sunne, and Moone; and that th' affrighted GlobeDid yawne at Alteration.Aemil. I do beseech youThat I may speake with you. Oh good my Lord
Oth. I had forgot thee: oh come in aemilia.Soft, by and by, let me the Curtaines draw.Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?Enter aemilia.
Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done
Oth. What? now?Aemil. But now, my Lord
Oth. It is the very error of the Moone,She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont,And makes men mad.Aemil. Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'dA young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo
Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd?Aemil. No, Cassio is not kill'd
Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then Murther's out of tune,And sweet Reuenge growes harsh
Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd.Aemil. Alas! what cry is that?Oth. That? What?Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice.Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe,Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake
Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye.Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed?Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell:Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell
Oth. Why, how should she be murdred?Aemil. Alas: who knowes?Oth. You heare her say her selfe, it was not I.Aemil. She said so: I must needs report the truth
Oth. She's like a Liar gone to burning hell,'Twas I that kill'd her.Aemil. Oh the more Angell she, and you the blackerDiuell
Oth. She turn'd to folly: and she was a whore.Aemil. Thou do'st bely her, and thou art a diuell
Oth. She was false as water.Aemil. Thou art rash as fire, to sayThat she was false. Oh she was heauenly true
Oth. Cassio did top her: Ask thy husband else.O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell:But that I did proceed vpon iust groundsTo this extremity. Thy Husband knew it all.Aemil. My Husband?Oth. Thy Husband.Aemil. That she was false to Wedlocke?Oth. I, with Cassio: had she bin true,If Heauen would make me such another world,Of one entyre and perfect Chrysolite,I'ld not haue sold her for it.Aemil. My Husband?Oth. I, 'twas he that told me on her first,An honest man he is, and hates the slimeThat stickes on filthy deeds.Aemil. My Husband?Oth. What needs this itterance, Woman?I say, thy Husband.Aemil. Oh Mistris,Villany hath made mockes with loue:My Husband say she was false?Oth. He, Woman;I say thy Husband: Do'st vnderstand the word?My Friend, thy Husband; honest, honest Iago.Aemil. If he say so, may his pernicious SouleRot halfe a graine a day: he lyes to'th' heart,She was too fond of her most filthy Bargaine
Oth. Hah?Aemil. Do thy worst:This deede of thine is no more worthy Heauen,Then thou was't worthy her
Oth. Peace, you were best.Aemil. Thou hast not halfe that powre to do me harm,As I haue to be hurt. Oh Gull, oh dolt,As ignorant as durt: thou hast done a deed(I care not for thy Sword) Ile make thee known,Though I lost twenty liues. Helpe, helpe, hoa, helpe:The Moore hath kill'd my Mistris. Murther, murther.Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago.
Mon. What is the matter? How now Generall?Aemil. Oh, are you come, Iago: you haue done well,That men must lay their Murthers on your necke
Gra. What is the matter?Aemil. Disproue this Villaine, if thou bee'st a man:He sayes, thou told'st him that his wife was false:I know thou did'st not: thou'rt not such a Villain.Speake, for my heart is full
Iago. I told him what I thought,And told no moreThen what he found himselfe was apt, and true.Aemil. But did you euer tell him,She was false?Iago. I did.Aemil. You told a Lye an odious damned Lye:Vpon my Soule, a Lye; a wicked Lye.Shee false with Cassio?Did you say with Cassio?Iago. With Cassio, Mistris?Go too, charme your tongue
Emil. I will not charme my Tongue;I am bound to speake,My Mistris heere lyes murthered in her bed
All. Oh Heauens, forefend
Emil. And your reports haue set the Murder on
Othello. Nay stare not Masters,It is true indeede
Gra. 'Tis a strange Truth
Mont. O monstrous Acte
Emil. Villany, villany, villany:I thinke vpon't, I thinke: I smel't: O Villany:I thought so then: Ile kill my selfe for greefe.O villany! villany!Iago. What, are you mad?I charge you get you home
Emil. Good Gentlemen, let me haue leaue to speake:'Tis proper I obey him; but not now:Perchance Iago, I will ne're go home
Oth. Oh, oh, oh
Emil. Nay, lay thee downe, and roare:For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent,That ere did lift vp eye
Oth. Oh she was fowle!I scarse did know you Vnkle, there lies your Neece,Whose breath (indeed) these hands haue newly stopp'd:I know this acte shewes horrible and grim
Gra. Poore Desdemon:I am glad thy Father's dead,Thy Match was mortall to him: and pure greefeShore his old thred in twaine. Did he liue now,This sight would make him do a desperate turne:Yea, curse his better Angell from his side,And fall to Reprobance
Oth. 'Tis pittifull: but yet Iago knowesThat she with Cassio, hath the Act of shameA thousand times committed. Cassio confest it,And she did gratifie his amorous workesWith that Recognizance and pledge of LoueWhich I first gaue her: I saw it in his hand:It was a Handkerchiefe, an Antique TokenMy Father gaue my Mother
Emil. Oh Heauen! oh heauenly Powres!Iago. Come, hold your peace
Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out. I peace?No, I will speake as liberall as the North;Let Heauen, and Men, and Diuels, let them all,All, all, crie shame against me, yet Ile speake
Iago. Be wise, and get you home
Emil. I will not
Gra. Fye, your Sword vpon a Woman
Emil. Oh thou dull Moore,That Handkerchiefe thou speak'st ofI found by Fortune, and did giue my Husband:For often, with a solemne earnestnesse,(More then indeed belong'd to such a Trifle)He begg'd of me, to steale't
Iago. Villanous Whore
Emil. She giue it Cassio? No, alas I found it,And I did giu't my Husband
Iago. Filth, thou lyest
Emil. By Heauen I do not, I do not Gentlemen:Oh murd'rous Coxcombe, what should such a FooleDo with so good a wife?Oth. Are there no stones in Heauen,But what serues for the Thunder?Precious Villaine
Gra. The woman falles:Sure he hath kill'd his Wife
Emil. I, I: oh lay me by my Mistris side
Gra. Hee's gone, but his wife's kill'd
Mon. 'Tis a notorious Villain: take you this weaponWhich I haue recouer'd from the Moore:Come guard the doore without, let him not passe,But kill him rather. Ile after that same villaine,For 'tis a damned Slaue.Enter.
Oth. I am not valiant neither:But euery Punie whipster gets my Sword.But why should Honor out-liue Honesty?Let it go all.Aemil. What did thy Song boad Lady?Hearke, canst thou heare me? I will play the Swan,And dye in Musicke: Willough, Willough, Willough.Moore, she was chaste: She lou'd thee, cruell Moore,So come my Soule to blisse, as I speake true:So speaking as I thinke, alas, I dye
Oth. I haue another weapon in this Chamber,It was a Sword of Spaine, the Ice brookes temper:Oh heere it is: Vnkle I must come forth
Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee deere;Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer
Oth. Looke in vpon me then, and speake with me,Or naked as I am I will assault thee
Gra. What is the matter?Othel. Behold, I haue a weapon:A better neuer did it selfe sustaineVpon a Soldiers Thigh. I haue seene the day,That with this little Arme, and this good Sword,I haue made my way through more impedimentsThen twenty times your stop. But (oh vaine boast)Who can controll his Fate? 'Tis not so now.Be not affraid, though you do see me weapon'd:Heere is my iournies end, heere is my buttAnd verie Sea-marke of my vtmost Saile.Do you go backe dismaid? 'Tis a lost feare:Man but a Rush against Othello's brest,And he retires. Where should Othello go?Now: how dost thou looke now? Oh ill-Starr'd wench,Pale as thy Smocke: when we shall meete at compt,This looke of thine will hurle my Soule from Heauen,And Fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girle?Euen like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slaue!Whip me ye Diuels,From the possession of this Heauenly sight:Blow me about in windes, roast me in Sulphure,Wash me in steepe-downe gulfes of Liquid fire.Oh Desdemon! dead Desdemon: dead. Oh, oh!Enter Lodouico, Cassio, Montano, and Iago, with Officers.
Lod. Where is this rash, and most vnfortunate man?Oth. That's he that was Othello: heere I am
Lod. Where is that Viper?Bring the Villaine forth
Oth. I look down towards his feet; but that's a Fable,If that thou bee'st a Diuell, I cannot kill thee
Lod. Wrench his Sword from him
Iago. I bleed Sir, but not kill'd
Othel. I am not sorry neither, Il'd haue thee liue:For in my sense, 'tis happinesse to die
Lod. Oh thou Othello, that was once so good,Falne in the practise of a cursed Slaue,What shall be saide to thee
Oth. Why any thing:An honourable Murderer, if you will:For nought I did in hate, but all in Honour
Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany:Did you and he consent in Cassio's death
Oth. I
Cas. Deere Generall, I neuer gaue you cause
Oth. I do beleeue it, and I aske your pardon:Will you, I pray, demand that demy-Diuell,Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soule and Body
Iag. Demand me nothing: what you know, you know:From this time forth, I neuer will speake word
Lod. What? not to pray?Gra. Torments will ope your lips
Oth. Well, thou dost best
Lod. Sir,You shall vnderstand what hath befalne,(Which, as I thinke, you know not) heere is a LetterFound in the pocket of the slaine Rodorigo,And heere another, the one of them importsThe death of Cassio, to be vndertookeBy Rodorigo
Oth. O Villaine!Cassio. Most Heathenish, and most grosse
Lod. Now, heere's another discontented paperFound in his pocket too: and this it seemesRodorigo meant t'haue sent this damned villaine:But that (belike) Iago in the interimCame in, and satisfi'd him
Oth. Oh thou pernitious Caitiffe;How came you (Cassio) by that HandkerchiefeThat was my wiues?Cassio. I found it in my Chamber:And he himselfe confest it but euen now,That there he dropt it for a speciall purpose,Which wrought to his desire
Othel. O Foole, foole, foole!Cassio. There is besides, in Rodorigo's Letter,How he vpbraides Iago, that he made himBraue me vpon the Watch: whereon it cameThat I was cast: and euen but now he spake(After long seeming dead) Iago hurt him,Iago set him on
Lod. You must forsake this roome, and go with vs:Your Power, and your Command is taken off,And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this Slaue,If there be any cunning Crueltie,That can torment him much, and hold him long,It shall be his. You shall close Prisoner rest,Till that the Nature of your fault be knowneTo the Venetian State. Come, bring away
Oth. Soft you; a word or two before you goe:I haue done the State some seruice, and they know't:No more of that. I pray you in your Letters,When you shall these vnluckie deeds relate,Speake of me, as I am. Nothing extenuate,Nor set downe ought in malice.Then must you speake,Of one that lou'd not wisely, but too well:Of one, not easily Iealious, but being wrought,Perplexed in the extreame: Of one, whose hand(Like the base Iudean) threw a Pearle awayRicher then all his Tribe: Of one, whose subdu'd Eyes,Albeit vn-vsed to the melting moode,Drops teares as fast as the Arabian TreesTheir Medicinable gumme. Set you downe this:And say besides, that in Aleppo once,Where a malignant, and a Turbond-TurkeBeate a Venetian, and traduc'd the State,I tooke by th' throat the circumcised Dogge,And smoate him, thus
Lod. Oh bloody period
Gra. All that is spoke, is marr'd
Oth. I kist thee, ere I kill'd thee: No way but this,Killing my selfe, to dye vpon a kisse.
Dyes
Cas. This did I feare, but thought he had no weapon:For he was great of heart
Lod. Oh Sparton Dogge:More fell then Anguish, Hunger, or the Sea:Looke on the Tragicke Loading of this bed:This is thy worke:The Obiect poysons Sight,Let it be hid. Gratiano, keepe the house,And seize vpon the Fortunes of the Moore,For they succeede on you. To you, Lord Gouernor,Remaines the Censure of this hellish villaine:The Time, the Place, the Torture, oh inforce it:My selfe will straight aboord, and to the State,This heauie Act, with heauie heart relate.
Exeunt.
The Names of the Actors.
Othello, the Moore.Brabantio, Father to Desdemona.Cassio, an Honourable Lieutenant.Iago, a Villaine.Rodorigo, a gull'd Gentleman.Duke of Venice.Senators.Montano, Gouernour of Cyprus.Gentlemen of Cyprus.Lodouico, and Gratiano, two Noble Venetians.Saylors.Clowne.Desdemona, Wife to Othello.Aemilia, Wife to Iago.Bianca, a Curtezan.