Oth.
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 whither skin of hers than snow,

And smooth as monumental alabaster: [Lays down the sword.
Yet she must die;* ^note else she'll 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; 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 relumine.— [Sets down the taper.
When I have pluck'd thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again;
It needs must wither.—I'll smell thee on the tree; [Kissing her.
Oh, 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, that's the last;
So sweet, was ne'er so fatal! I must weep,
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heav'nly;
It strikes, where it doth love.—She wakes—

Des.
Who's there? Othello?

Oth.
Ay, Desdemona.

Des.
Will you come to-bed, my lord?

Oth.
Have you pray'd, to-night, Desdemona?

Des.
Ay, my lord.

Oth.
If you bethink yourself of any crime,
Unreconcil'd, as yet, to Heav'n and grace,
Solicit for it straight.

Des.
Alack, my lord,
What may you mean by that?

Oth.
Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by.
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
No, (Heav'ns foretend!) I would not kill thy soul.

Des.
Talk you of killing!

Oth.
Ay, I do.

Des.
Then Heav'n have mercy on me!

Oth.
Amen, with all my heart.

Des.
If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.

Oth.
Hum.

Des.
And yet I fear you: for you're fatal then,
When your eyes roll so. Why I should fear, I know not,
Since guilt I know not: yet, I feel I fear.

Oth.
Think on thy sins.

Des.
They're loves I bear to you.

Oth.
Ay, and for that thou dy'st.* ^note

Des.
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.

Oth.
Peace, and be still.

Des.
I will so. What's the matter?

Oth.
That handkerchief,
Which I so lov'd, and gave thee, thou gav'st Cassio.

Des.
No, by my life and soul; send for the man,
And ask him.

Oth.
Sweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury:
Thou art on thy death-bed.

Des.
Aye, but not yet to die.

Oth.
Presently;
Therefore, confess thee freely of thy sin:
For to deny each article with oath,
Cannot remove, nor choak, the strong conception,
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

Des.
Oh, Heav'n have mercy on me!

Oth.
I say, amen.

Des.
And have you mercy, too!—I never did
Offend you, in my life; never lov'd Cassio,
But with such general warranty of Heav'n,
As I might love. I never gave him token.

Oth.
By Heav'n, I saw my handkerchief in's hand.
Oh, perjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart;
And mak'st me call, what I intend to do,

A murther, which I thought a sacrifice.
I saw the handkerchief.

Des.
He found it, then:
I never gave it him. Send for him hither,
Let him confess a truth.

Oth.
He hath confest.

Des.
What, my lord?

Oth.
That he hath—us'd thee—

Des.
How? unlawfully?

Oth.
Ay.

Des.
He will not say so.

Oth.
No, his mouth is stopp'd:
Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't.

Des.
My fear interprets, then—What, is he dead?

Oth.
Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge:
Had stomach for them all.

Des.
Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone.

Oth.
Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him to my face?

Des.
O banish me, my lord, but kill me not.

Oth.
Down, strumpet.

Des.
Kill me, to-morrow, but let me live, to-night.

Oth.
Nay, if you strive.—

Des.
But half an hour.

Oth.
Being done, there is no pause.

Des.
But while I say one prayer.

Oth.
It is too late. [He smothers her. Æmilia at the door.

Æmil.
My lord, my lord! what, hoa! my lord, my lord!

Oth.
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.* ^note

Æmil. within.]
What, hoa, my lord, my lord!

Oth.
Who's there?

Æmil.
Oh, my good lord, I would speak a word with you.

Oth.
Yes, 'tis Æmilia—By and by—She's dead.
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death;
The noise was high—Ha, no more moving!
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good?
I think she stirs again.—No—What's the best?
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife.
My wife! my wife! What wife! I have no wife.
Oh, insupportable! Oh, heavy hour!
Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipse,
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration—† ^note

Æmil.
I beseech you,
That I may speak with you. O good, my lord!

Oth.
I had forgot thee. [Unlocks the door.
What's the matter with thee, now? Come in, Æmilia.

Æmil.
Oh, my good lord, yonder's foul murther done.

Oth.
What! now!

Æmil.
But now, my lord.

Oth.
It is the very error of the moon;
She comes more near the earth than she was wont,
And makes men mad.

Æmil.
Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd
A young Venetian, called Rodorigo.

Oth.
Rodorigo kill'd! and Cassio kill'd!

Æmil.
No, Cassio is not kill'd.

Oth.
Not Cassio kill'd! Then murther's out of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Des.
Oh falsely, falsely murther'd!—

Æmil.
Alas! what cry is that?

Oth.
That! what?

Æmil.
Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.
Help! help, hoa! help! oh lady, speak again;
Sweet Desdemona! oh sweet mistress, speak.

Des.
A guiltless death I die.

Æmil.
Oh, who has done this deed?

Des.
Nobody, I myself, farewel.
Commend me to my kind lord; oh, farewel. [Dies.

Oth.
Why, how should she be murther'd?

Æmil.
Alas! who knows?

Oth.
You heard her say herself, it was not I.

Æmil.
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.

Æmil.
Oh, the more angel she, and you the blacker devil.

Oth.
She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

Æmil.
Thou dost bely her, and thou art a devil.

Oth.
She was false as water.

Æmil.
Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false. Oh, she was heav'nly true.

Oth.
Cassio did use her; ask thy husband else.
Oh, 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.

Æmil.
My husband!

Oth.
Thy husband.

Æmil.
That she was false to wedlock!

Oth.
Ay, with Cassio: had she been true,
If heav'n would make me such another world,
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.

Æmil.
My husband!

Oth.
What means this iteration, woman?
I say thy husband.
Do'st understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.

Æmil.
If he says so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a-day! he lies to th' heart;
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

Oth.
Hah!—

Æmil.
Do thy worst:
This deed of thine is no more worthy heav'n,
Than thou wast worthy her.

Oth.
Peace, you were best.

Æmil.
Thou hast not half that power to do me harm,
As I have to be hurt: oh gull! oh dolt!
As ignorant as dirt! thou'st done a deed—
I care not for thy sword. I'll make thee known,
Tho'I lost twenty lives—Help! help! hoa! help!
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murder, murder!

Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others.

Mont.
How now, general?

Æmil.
Oh! are you come, Iago! you have done well,
That men must lay their murders on your neck.

Gra.
What is the matter?

Æmil.
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.

Æmil.
But did you ever tell him she was false?

Iago.
I did.

Æmil.
You told a lie; an odious, damned lye!
Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
She false with Cassio! Did you say with Cassio?

Iago.
With Cassio, mistress;
What, are you mad? I charge you get you home.

Æmil.
Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak;
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now:
Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth.
Oh! oh! oh! [Othello falls on the bed.

Æmil.
Nay, lay thee down, and roar;
For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent,
That e'er did lift up eye.

Oth.
Oh, she was foul! [Rising,
I scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your niece,
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd;
I know this act shews horrible and grim.

Gra.
Poor Desdemona! I'm glad thy father's dead:
Did he live, now,
This sight would make him do a desp'rate turn;
And fall to reprobation.

Oth.
'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows,
That she with Cassio had the act of shame,
A thousand times committed. Cassio confest 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 an handkerchief, an antique token,
My father gave my mother.

Æmil.
Oh heav'n! oh heav'nly powers!* ^note
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.
Filth, thou lyest.

Æmil.
By heav'n, I do not; I do not, gentlemen:
Oh, murd'rous coxcomb! What should such a fool
Do with so good a wife? [Iago breaks through, and wounds his wife, then runs out.

Oth.
Are there no stones in heav'n,
But what serve for the thunder? Precious villain!

Gra.
The woman falls; sure, he has kill'd his wife.

Mont.
Take 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. [Exeunt Mont. and Gra.

Oth.
I am not valiant, neither;
But every puny whipster gets my sword.
But why should honour out-live honesty?
Let it go all.

Æmil.
Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor,
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Æmilia dies.

Oth.
I have another weapon in this chamber,
It was a sword of Spain, the Ebro's temper;
Oh, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. within.]
If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

Oth.
Look in upon me then, and speak with me,
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. Re-enter Gratiano.

Gra.
What is the matter?

Oth.
Lo! I have a weapon:
A better never did itself sustain,
Upon a soldier's thigh. I've seen the day,

That with this single arm, and this good sword,
I've made my way through more impediments,
Than twenty times your stop. But, oh vain boast!
Who can controul his fate? 'Tis not so, now.
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires. Where should Othello go?* ^note
Now—how dost thou look, now? Oh 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,
Ev'n like thy chastity.
“Whip me, ye devils,
“From the possession of this heav'nly sight;
“Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur,
“Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire—† ^note
Oh Desdemona! Desdemona! dead, dead! oh, oh! Enter Lodovico, Cassio led in wounded, Montano, and Iago Prisoner, with Officers.

Lod.
Where is this rash and most unfortunate man?

Oth.
That's he that was Othello.

Lod.
Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth.

Oth.
I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable.
If that thou beest a devil, I cannot kill thee. [Othello wounds Iago.

Lod.
Wrench his sword from him.‡ ^note

Iago.
I bleed, sir, but am not kill'd.

Oth.
I am not sorry, neither: I'd have thee live;
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod.
Oh thou Othello, that wast once so good,
Fall'n in the practice of a cursed slave,—
What shall be said of thee?

Oth.
Why, any thing;
An honourable murth'rer, 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.
Ay.

Cas.
Dear general, I never gave you cause.

Oth.
I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil,
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body?

Iago.
Demand me nothing; what you know, you know;
From this time forth I ne'er will speak a word.

Oth.
Well, thou dost best.

Lod.
Sir, you shall understand and what hath befall'n,
Which, as I think, you know not, here's a letter,
Found in the pocket of the slain Rodorigo,
And, here, another; one of them imports
The death of Cassio to be undertook,
By Rodorigo.

Oth.
Oh, villain!

Lod.
Now, here's another discontented paper,
Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
Rodorigo meant t'have sent this damned villain;
But that, belike, Iago in the interim
Came in, and satisfied him.

Oth.
Oh, thou pernicious caitiff!
How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief,
That was my wife's?

Cas.
I found it in my chamber:
And he himself confest but even now,
That there he dropt it for a special purpose,
Which wrought to his desire.

Oth.
Oh fool, fool, fool!

Cas.
There is, besides, in Rodorigo's letter,
How he upbraids Iago, that he made him
Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came
That I was cast: and even now he spake,
After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,
Iago set him on.

Lod.
You must forsake this room, and go with us;
Your pow'r and your command is taken off,
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,
If there be any cunning cruelty,
That can torment him much, and hold him long,

It shall be his. Away with him. [Exit Iago guarded.
You shall close prisoner rest,
Till that the nature of your fault be known,
To the Venetian state. Come, bring him away.

Oth.
Soft you; a word or two before you go.
I've 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 lov'd not wisely, but too well;
Of one, not easily jealous; but being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away,
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose eyes
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this:
And say, besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him thus.—* ^note [Stabs himself and dies.

Lod.
Oh Spartan dog! [To Iago.
More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
Gratiano, keep the house,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed to you. To you, lord governor,
Remains the censure of that hellish villain:
The time, the place, the torture, oh! inforce it.
Myself will strait aboard; and to the state
This heavy act, with heavy heart, relate.† ^note [Exeunt. End of the Fifth Act.

^note All's Well, that Ends Well.* [Footnote: 1Kb]

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