Iago.
Iago.
Will you think so?
Oth.
Think so, Iago?
Iago.
What, to kiss in private?
Oth.
An unauthoriz'd kiss?
Iago.
Or to be naked with her friend in bed,
An hour or more, not meaning any harm?
Oth.
Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?(43) note
It is hypocrisy against the Devil:
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so,
The Devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heav'n.
Iago.
If they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip:
But if I give my wife a handkerchief—
Oth.
What then?
Iago.
Why then, 'tis hers, my lord; and, being hers,
She may, I think, bestow't it on any man.
-- 454 --
Oth.
She is protectress of her honour too;
May she give That?
Iago.
Her honour is an essence that's not seen,
They have it very oft, that have it not:
But for the handkerchief—
Oth.
By heav'n, I would most gladly have forgot it;
Thou saidst,—oh, it comes o'er my memory,
As doth the Raven o'er th' infected house,
Boading to ill,—he had my handkerchief.
Iago.
Ay, what of that?
Oth.
That's not so good now.
Iago.
What if I said, I'ad seen him do you wrong?
Or heard him say, (as knaves be such abroad,(44) note
Who having by their own importunate suit,
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
Convinc'd or suppled them, they cannot chuse
But they must blab.)
Oth.
Hath he said any thing?
Iago.
He hath, my lord; but be you well assur'd,
No more than he'll unswear.
Oth.
What hath he said?
Iago.
Why, that he did—I know not what he did—
Oth.
What? what?
Iago.
Lye—
-- 455 --
Oth.
With her?
Iago.
With her; on her—what you will—
Oth.
Lye with her! lye on her! lye with her! that's
fulsom: handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief—
handkerchief—to confess, and be hang'd for his labour—
First, to be hang'd, and then—to confess!—I tremble at
it—Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing
without some instruction. It is not words, that shake
me thus—pish—noses, ears, and lips—is't possible!—
confess!—handkerchief!—oh devil—
[Falls in a trance.
Iago.
Work on,
My medicine, work! thus credulous fools are caught;
And many worthy and chast Dames even thus,
All guiltless, meet reproach. What hoa! my lord!
My lord, I say, Othello,—
Enter Cassio.
How now, Cassio?
Cas.
What's the matter?
-- 456 --
Iago.
My lord is fell into an Epilepsie,
This is the second Fit; he had one yesterday.
Cas.
Rub him about the temples.
Iago.
No, forbear,
The lethargy must have his quiet course;
If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by
Breaks out to savage madness: look, he stirs,
Do you withdraw your self a little while,
He will recover straight; when he is gone,
I would on great occasion speak with you.
[Exit Cassio.
How is it, General? have you not hurt your head?
Oth.
Dost thou mock me?
Iago.
I mock you not, by heav'n;
Would you would bear your fortunes like a man.
Oth.
A horned man's a monster, and a beast.
Iago.
There's many a beast, then, in a populous city,
And many a civil monster.
Oth.
Did he confess it?
Iago.
Good sir, be a man:
Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yoak'd,
May draw with you. Millions are now alive,
That nightly lye in those unproper beds,
Which they dare swear peculiar. Your case is better.
Oh, 'tis the spight of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
To lip a Wanton in a secure couch;
And to suppose her chast. No, let me know,
And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.
Oth.
Oh, thou art wise; 'tis certain.
Iago.
Stand you a while apart,
Confine your self but in a patient list.
Whilst you were here, o'er-whelmed with your grief,
(A passion most unsuiting such a man,)
Cassio came hither. I shifted him away,
And laid good 'scuses on your ecstasie;
Bad him anon return, and here speak with me;
The which he promis'd. Do but encave your self,
And mark the fieers, the gibes, and notable scorns,
That dwell in every region of his face.
For I will make him tell the tale anew;
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when,
-- 457 --
He hath, and is again to cope your wife.
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience;
Or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen,
And nothing of a man.
Oth.
Dost thou hear, Iago?
I will be found most cunning in my patience;
But, dost thou hear, most bloody.
Iago.
That's not amiss;
But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?
[Othello withdraws.
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
A huswife, that, by selling her desires,
Buys her self bread and cloth. It is a creature,
That dotes on Cassio; as 'tis the strumpet's plague
To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one;
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
From the excess of laughter.—Here he comes—
Enter Cassio.
As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad;
And his unbookish jealousie must construe
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour,
Quite in the wrong. How do you now, Lieutenant?
Cas.
The worser, that you give me the addition,
Whose want even kills me.
Iago.
Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on't:
Now, if this sute lay in Bianca's power,
[speaking lower.
How quickly should you speed?
Cas.
Alas, poor caitiff!
Oth.
Look, how he laughs already.
[aside.
Iago.
I never knew a woman love man so.
Cas.
Alas, poor rogue, I think, indeed, she loves me.
Oth.
Now he denies it faintly, and laughs out.
[aside.
Iago.
Do you hear, Cassio?
Oth.
Now he importunes him
To tell it o'er: go to, well said, well said.
[aside.
Iago.
She gives it out, that you shall marry her.
Do you intend it?
-- 458 --
Cas.
Ha, ha, ha.
Oth.
Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph?
[aside.
Cas.
I marry her!—What? a customer? pr'ythee, bear
some charity to my wit, do not think it so unwholsome.
Ha, ha, ha.
Oth.
So, so: they laugh, that win.
[aside.
Iago.
Why, the Cry goes, that you shall marry her.
Cas.
Pr'ythee, say true.
Iago.
I am a very villain else.
Oth.
Have you scoar'd me? well.
[aside.
Cas.
This is the monkey's own giving out: she is perswaded,
I will marry her, out of her own love and flattery,
not out of my promise.
Oth.
Iago beckons me: now he begins the story.
[aside.
Cas.
She was here even now: she haunts me in every
place. I was the other day talking on the Sea-bank with
certain Venetians, and thither comes the bauble, and falls
me thus about my neck—
Oth.
Crying, “oh dear Cassio, as it were:” his gesture
imports it.
[aside.
Cas.
So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me, so shakes,
and pulls me. Ha, ha, ha—
Oth
Now he tells, how she pluckt him to my chamber:
oh, I see that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall
throw it to.
[aside.
Cas.
Well, I must leave her company.
Iago.
Before me! look, where she comes.
Enter Bianca.
Cas.
'Tis such another fitchew! marry, a perfum'd one:—
What do you mean by this haunting of me?
Bian.
Let the Devil and his Dam haunt you! what did
you mean by that same handkerchief, you gave me even
now? I was a fine fool to take it: I must take out the
work? A likely peice of work, that you should find it
in your chamber, and know not who left it there.
This is some minxe's token, and I must take out the
work? there—give it your hobby-horse: wheresoever
you had it, I'll take out no work on't.
-- 459 --
Cas.
How now, my sweet Bianca? how now? how
now?
Oth.
By heav'n, that should be my handkerchief.
[aside.
Bian.
If you'll come to supper to night, you may; if
you will not, come when you are next prepar'd
for.
[Exit.
Iago.
After her, after her.—
Cas.
I must, she'll rail in the streets else.
Iago.
Will you Sup there?
Cas.
Yes, I intend so.
Iago.
Well, I may chance to see you; for I would very
fain speak with you.
Cas.
Pr'ythee, come, will you?
Iago.
Go to, say no more.
[Exit Cassio.
Manent Othello, and Iago.
Oth.
How shall I murther him, Iago?
Iago.
Did you perceive, how he laugh'd at his vice?
Oth.
Oh, Iago!—
Iago.
And did you see the handkerchief?
Oth.
Was that mine?
Iago.
Yours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes
the foolish woman your wife—She gave it him, and he
hath given it his whore.
Oth.
I would have him nine years a killing:
A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman!
Iago.
Nay, you must forget That.
Oth.
Ay, let her rot and perish, and be damn'd to
night; for she shall not live. No, my heart is turn'd to
stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world
hath not a sweeter creature—She might lye by an emperor's
side, and command him tasks.
Iago.
Nay, that's not your way.
Oth.
Hang her, I do but say what she is—so delicate
with her needle—An admirable musician.—Oh,
she will sing the savageness out of a bear: of so high and
plenteous wit and invention!
Iago.
She's the worse for all this.
Oth.
Oh, a thousand, a thousand times:
-- 460 --
And then of so gentle condition!—
Iago.
Ay, too gentle.
Oth.
Nay, that's certain.
But yet the pity of it, Iago—Oh, Iago, the pity of it,
Iago—
Iago.
If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her
patent to offend; for if it touch not you, it comes near
no body.
Oth.
I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!
Iago.
Oh, 'tis foul in her.
Oth.
With mine officer!
Iago.
That's fouler.
Oth.
Get me some poison, Iago, this night; I'll not expostulate
with her, lest her body and her beauty unprovide
my mind again; this night, Iago.
Iago.
Do it not with poyson, strangle her in her bed,
Even in the bed she hath contaminated.
Oth.
Good, good:
The justice of it pleases; very good.
Iago.
And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker:
You shall hear more by midnight.
[A Trumpet within.
Oth.
Excellent good:—what Trumpet is that same?
Iago.
Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico
Come from the Duke: and, see, your wife is with him.
Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants, from the Palace.
Lod.
Save you, worthy General.
Oth.
With all my heart, Sir.
Lod.
The Duke and the Senators of Venice greet you.
[Gives him a Letter.
Oth.
I kiss the Instrument of their pleasures.
Des.
And what's the news, good Cousin Lodovico?
Iago.
I am very glad to see you, signior.
Welcome to Cyprus.
Lod.
I thank you; how does lieutenant Cassio?
Iago.
Lives, Sir.
Des.
Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my lord
An unkind breach: but you shall make all well.
Oth.
Are you sure of that?
[aside.
-- 461 --
Des.
My lord,—
Oth.
This fail you not to do, as you will—
[Reads.
Lod.
He did not call; he's busie in the paper.
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio?
Des.
A most unhappy one; I would do much
T' atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.
Oth.
Fire and brimstone!
Des.
My lord!
Oth.
Are you wise?
Des.
What, is he angry?
Lod.
'May be, the letter mov'd him.
For, as I think, they do command him home,(45) note
Deputing Cassio in his Government.
Des.
Trust me, I am glad on't.
Oth.
Indeed!
[aside.
Des.
My lord!
Oth.
I am glad to see you mad.
Des.
Why, sweet Othello?
Oth.
Devil!—
[Striking her.
Des.
I have not deserv'd this.
Lod.
My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice,
Though I should swear, I saw't. 'Tis very much;
Make her amends, she weeps.
Oth.
Oh devil, devil!
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
Each drop, she falls, would prove a crocodile:
-- 462 --
Out of my sight—
Des.
I will not stay t' offend you.
[going.
Lod.
Truly, an obedient lady:
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.
Oth.
Mistress,—
Des.
My lord.
Oth.
What would you with her, Sir?
Lod.
Who I, my lord?
Oth.
Ay; 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,—oh 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!—
[Exit Desd.
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 Monkies!
[Exit.
Manent Lodovico, and Iago.
Lod.
Is this the noble Moor, whom our full Senate
Call all-in-all sufficient? this the Nature,
Which passion could not shake? whose solid virtue(46) note
The shot of accident, nor dart of change,
-- 463 --
Could neither raze, nor pierce?
Iago.
He is much chang'd.
Lod.
Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain?
Iago.
He's what he is; I may not breathe my censure.
What he might be, if what he might he is not,
I would to heaven, he were!
Lod.
What, strike his wife!
Iago.
'Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew,
That stroke would prove the worst.
Lod.
Is it his use?
Or did the letters work upon his blood,
And new-create this fault?
Iago.
Alas, alas!
It is not honesty in me to speak
What I have seen and known. You shall observe him,
-- 464 --
And his own courses will denote him so,
That I may save my speech. Do but go after,
And mark how he continues.
Lod.
I'm sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Othello and Æmilia.
Oth.
You have seen nothing then?
Æmil.
Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.
Oth.
Yes, you have seen Cassio and her together.
Æmil.
But then I saw no harm; and then I heard
Each syllable, that breath made up between them.
Oth.
What? did they never whisper?
Æmil.
Never, my lord.
Oth.
Nor send you out o'th' way?
Æmil.
Never.
Oth.
To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?
-- 465 --
Æmil.
Never, my lord.
Oth.
That's strange!
Æm.
I durst, my Lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch have put this in your head,
Let heav'n requite it with the serpent's curse!
For if she be not honest, chast and true,
There's no man happy; the purest of their wives
Is foul as slander.
Oth.
Bid her come hither, go.
[Exit Æmilia.
She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd,
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
A closet lock and key of villanous secrets;
And yet she'll kneel, and pray: I've seen her do't.
Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.
Des.
My lord, what is your will?
Oth.
Pray you, chuck, come hither.
Des.
What is your pleasure?
Oth.
Let me see your eyes; look in my face.
Des.
What horrible fancy's this?
Oth.
Some of your function, mistress;
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door,
Cough, or cry, hem, if any body come.
Your mystery, your mystery;—nay, dispatch.
[Exit Æmilia.
Des.
Upon my knee, what doth your speech import?
I understand a fury in your words,
But not your words.
Oth.
Why? what art thou?
Des.
Your wife, my lord; your true and loyal wife.
Oth.
Come, swear it; damn thy self; lest, being like one
Of heav'n, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee.
Therefore be double-damn'd; swear, thou art honest.
Des.
Heav'n doth truly know it.
Oth.
Heav'n truly knows,
That thou art false as hell.
Des.
To whom, my lord?
With whom? how am I false?
-- 466 --
Oth.
Ah, Desdemona! away, away, away—
Des.
Alas, the heavy day! why do you weep?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
If, haply, you my father do suspect
An instrument of this your calling back,
Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him,
Why, I have lost him too.
Oth.
Had it pleas'd heav'n
To try me with affliction, had he rain'd
All kind of sores and shames on my bare head,
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips,
Giv'n to captivity me and my hopes;
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience. But, alas, to make me
A fixed figure for the hand of scorn
To point his slow and moving finger at—
Yet could I bear that too, well, very well.
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current 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,(47) note
Patience, thou young and rose-lip'd cherubin;
Ay, there look grim as hell.
Des.
I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest.
Oth.
Oh, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,
That quicken ev'n with blowing. Oh thou weed!
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the sense akes at thee—
-- 467 --
Would, thou had'st ne'er been born!
Des.
Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?
Oth.
Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
Made to write whore upon? what, what committed?
Committed?—oh, thou publick commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks,
That would to cynders burn up modesty,
Did but I speak thy deeds. What, what committed?
Heav'n stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear't. What committed?—Impudent Strumpet!
Des.
By heav'n, you do me wrong.
Oth.
Are not you a strumpet?
Des.
No, as I am a christian.
If to preserve this vessel for my lord
From any other, foul, unlawful, Touch,
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.
Oth.
What, not a whore?
Des.
No, as I shall be saved.
Oth.
Is't possible?
Des.
Oh, heav'n forgive us!
Oth.
I cry you mercy, then.
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice,
That married with Othello—
Enter Æmilia.
You, mistress,
That have the office opposite to St. Peter,
And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, you!
We have done our course, there's mony for your pains;
I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.
[Exit.
Æmil.
Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?
Des.
Faith, half asleep.
Æmil.
Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?
Des.
With whom?
Æmil.
Why, with my lord, madam?
Des.
Who is thy lord?
-- 468 --
Æmil.
He that is yours, sweet lady.
Des.
I have none; do not talk to me, Æmilia.
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none,
But what should go by water. Pray, to night
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember;
And call thy husband hither.
Æmil.
Here's a change indeed!
[Exit.
Des.
'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet:
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick
The small'st opinion of my least misuse?
Enter Iago, and Æmilia.
Iago.
What is your pleasure, Madam? how is't with you?
Des.
I cannot tell; those, that do teach your babes,
Do it with gentle means, and easie tasks;
He might have chid me so: for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.
Iago.
What's the matter, lady?
Æmil.
Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Thrown such despight and heavy terms upon her,
That true hearts cannot bear it.
Des.
Am I that name, Iago?
Iago.
What name, fair lady?
Des.
Such, as, she said, my lord did say I was.
Æmil.
He call'd her whore; a beggar, in his drink,
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.
Iago.
Why did he so?
Des.
I do not know; I'm sure, I am none such.
Iago.
Do not weep, do not weep; alas, the day!
Æmil.
Hath she forsook so many noble matches?
Her father? and her country? and her friends?
To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep?
Des.
It is my wretched fortune.
Iago.
Beshrew him for't! how comes this trick upon him?
Des.
Nay, heav'n doth know.
Æmil.
I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Some busie and insinuating rogue,
-- 469 --
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
Has not devis'd this slander: I'll be hang'd else.
Iago.
Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.
Des.
If any such there be, heav'n pardon him!
Æmil.
A halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company?
What place? what time? what form? what likely-hood?
The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
Oh heav'n, that such companions thou'dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip,
To lash the rascal naked through the world,
Ev'n from the east to th' west!
Iago.
Speak within door.
Æmil.
Oh, fie upon them! Some such 'squire he was,
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without;
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.
Iago.
You are a fool; go to.
Des.
Alas, Iago,
What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him; by this light of heav'n,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel;
[Kneeling.
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Or in discourse, or thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them on any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will, though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I can't say, whore;
It do's abhor me, now I speak the word;
To do the act, that might th' addition earn,
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
Iago.
I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour;
The business of the State do's him offence,
And he does chide with you.
Des.
If 'twere no other,—
Iago.
It is but so, I warrant.
[Trumpets.
-- 470 --
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper!
The messenger of Venice stays the meat;
Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well.
[Exeunt Desdemona and Æmilia.
Enter Rodorigo, to Iago.
How now, Rodorigo?
Rod.
I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with me.
Iago.
What in the contrary?
Rod.
Every day thou dost'st me with some device,
Iago; and rather, as it seems to me now, keep'st from
me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the least advantage
of hope. I will, indeed, no longer endure it.
Nor am I yet perswaded to put up in peace what already
I have foolishly suffer'd.
Iago.
Will you hear me, Rodorigo?
Rod.
Faith, I have heard too much; and your words
and performances are no kin together.
Iago.
You charge me most unjustly.
Rod.
With naught but truth: I have wasted my self
out of my means. The jewels you have had from me, to
deliver to Desdemona, would half have corrupted a Votarist.
You have told me, she hath receiv'd them, and
return'd me expectations and comforts of sudden respect
and acquittance;(48) note
but I find none.
Iago.
Well, go to; very well.
Rod.
Very well, go to; I cannot go to, man, nor
'tis not very well; nay, I think, it is scurvy, and begin to
find my self fob'd in it.
Iago.
Very well.
-- 471 --
Rod.
I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make my
self known to Desdemona: If she will return me my
jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my unlawful
solicitation: if not, assure yourself, I will seek satisfaction
of you.
Iago.
You have said now—
Rod.
Ay, and said nothing, but what, I protest, intendment
of doing.
Iago.
Why, now, I see, there's mettle in thee; and
even from this instant do I build on thee a better opinion
than ever before. Give me thy hand, Rodorigo, thou
hast taken against me a most just exception; but, I protest,
I have dealt most directly in thy affair.
Rod.
It hath not appear'd.
Iago.
I grant, indeed, it hath not appear'd; and your
suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But, Rodorigo,
if thou hast That in thee indeed, which I have
greater reason to believe now than ever, (I mean, purpose,
courage, and valour) this night shew it. If thou the
next night following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from
this world with treachery, and devise engines for my life.
Rod.
Well; what is it? is it within reason and compass?
Iago.
Sir, there is especial Commission come from Venice
to depute Cassio in Othello's place.
Rod.
Is that true? why, then Othello and Desdemona return
again to Venice.
Iago.
Oh, no; he goes into Mauritania, and taketh
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be
lingred here by some accident: Wherein none can be so
determinate, as the removing of Cassio.
Rod.
How do you mean removing him?
Iago.
Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's
Place; knocking out his brains.
Rod.
And that you would have me to do?
Iago.
Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a
right. He sups to night with a harlot; and thither will
I go to him. He knows not yet of his honourable fortune;
if you will watch his going thence, (which I will
fashion to fall out between twelve and one) you may take
-- 472 --
him at your pleasure. I will be near to second your attempt,
and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not
amaz'd at it, but go along with me; I will shew you such
a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself
bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time;
and the night grows to waste. About it.
Rod.
I will hear further reason for this.
Iago.
And you shall be satisfied.
[Exeunt.
Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Æmilia, and Attendants.
Lod.
I do beseech you, Sir, trouble yourself no further.
Oth.
Oh, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.
Lod.
Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.
Des.
Your Honour is most welcome.
Oth.
Will you walk, Sir? oh Desdemona!—
Des.
My lord.
Oth.
Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be return'd
forthwith; dismiss your attendant there; look, it be
done.
[Exit.
Des.
I will, my Lord.
Æmil.
How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.
Des.
He says, he will return incontinent;
And hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bid me to dismiss you.
Æmil.
Dismiss me?
Des.
It was his bidding; therefore, good Æmilia,
Give me my nightly Wearing, and adieu.
We must not now displease him.
Æmil.
I would, you had never seen him!
Des.
So would not I; my love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns,
(Pr'ythee, unpin me) have grace and favour in them.
Æmil.
I have laid those sheets, you bad me, on the bed.
Des.
All's one: good father! how foolish are our minds?
If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of these same sheets.
-- 473 --
Æmil.
Come, come; you talk.
Des.
My mother had a maid call'd Barbara,
She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,
And did forsake her. She had a song of willow,
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've much ado,
But to go hang my head all at one side,
And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, dispatch.
Æmil.
Shall I go fetch your night-gown?
Des.
No, unpin me here;
This Lodovico is a proper man.
Æmil.
A very handsom man.
Des.
He speaks well.
Æmil.
I know a lady in Venice would have walk'd barefoot
to Palestine for a touch of his neither lip.
Des.
The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore-tree,
Sing all a green willow:
[singing.
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
Sing willow, &c.
Her salt tears fell from her, and softned the stones;
Sing willow, &c.
Willow, willow, &c. (Pr'ythee, hye thee, he'll come anon)
Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Let no body blame him, his scorn I approve.
Nay, that's not next—Hark, who is't that knocks?
Æmil.
It's the wind.
Des.
I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?
Sing willow, &c.
If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.
So, get thee gone, good night; mine eyes do itch,
Doth that boad weeping?
Æmil.
'Tis neither here nor there.
Des.
I have heard it said so; oh these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think, tell me, Æmilia,
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?
-- 474 --
Æmil.
There be some such, no question.
Des.
Woud'st thou do such a deed for all the world?
Æmil.
Why, would not you?
Des.
No, by this heav'nly light.
Æmil.
Nor I neither, by this heav'nly light:
I might do't as well i'th' dark.
Des.
Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?
Æmil.
The world's a huge thing,
It is a great price, for a small vice.
Des.
In troth, I think, thou would'st not.
Æmil.
In troth, I think, I should; and undo't when I
had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a
joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for gowns, 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.
Æmil.
Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world;
and having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in
your own world, and you might quickly make it
right(49) note.
Des.
I do not think, there is any such woman.
Æmil.
Yes, a dozen; and as many to th' vantage,
As would store the world they plaid for.
But, I do think, it is their husbands faults,
If wives do fall: say, that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint on us; or say, they strike us,
Or scant our former Having in despight;
Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
-- 475 --
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know,
Their wives have sense like them; they see and smell,
And have their palats both for sweet and sower,
As husbands have. What is it that they do,
When they change us for others? is it sport?
I think, it is; and doth affection breed it?
I think, it doth: is't frailty, that thus errs?
It is so too. And have not we affections?
Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well; else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us to.
Des.
Good night, good night; heaven me such uses send,
Not to pick bad from bad; but by bad, mend!
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
