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 whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster: [Lays down the sword.
Yet she must die; else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and, then, put out the light;(52) ^note
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 re-lumine.— [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 perswade
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 forefend!) 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 rowl 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.

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.
Ay, 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 warrantry 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 make'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.
Oh banish me, my Lord, but kill me not.

Oth.
Down, strumpet.

Des.
Kill me to morrow, 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.

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(53) ^note


Of Sun, and Moon, and that th' affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration—

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

Oth.
I had forgot thee; oh, come in, Æmilia.

Soft, by and by, let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou? what's the matter with thee now? [Unlocks the door. Enter 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, call'd 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 murder'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 hath done this deed?

Des.
No body, I my self, farewel;
Commend me to my kind Lord; oh, farewel. [Dies.

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

Æmil.
Alas! who knows?

Oth.
You heard her say, her self, 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 tup 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.
Ay, 'twas he that told me first;
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.

Æmil.
My husband!

Oth.
What needs this iteration, woman?
I say, thy husband.

Æmil.
Oh mistress! villany has made mocks with love.
My husband say, she was false!

Oth.
He, 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,
Though I lost twenty lives—Help! help, hoa! help!
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murther, murther! Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others.

Mon.
What is the matter? how now, General?

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

Gra.
What is the matter?

Æmil.
Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man;
He says, thou toldst 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, 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.

Æmil.
I will not charm my tongue; I'm bound to speak;
My mistress lies here murther'd in her bed.

All.
Oh heavens forefend!

Æmil.
And your reports have set the murther on.

Oth.
Nay, stare not, masters; it is true, indeed.

Gra.
'Tis a strange truth.

Mon.
Oh monstrous act!

Æmil.
Villany! villany! villany!
I think upon't—I think—I smell't—Oh villany!
I thought so then; I'll kill myself for grief;—
Oh villany, villany!

Iago.
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 lyes your Niece,
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stop'd;
I know, this act shews horrible and grim.

Gra.
Poor Desdemona! I'm 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 desp'rate turn;
Yea, curse his better Angel from his side,
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 gratifie his amourous 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!

Iago.
Come, hold your peace.

Æmil.
'Twill out, 'tiwll out,—I, peace!
No, I will speak as liberal as the air;
Let heav'n, and men, and devils, let them all,
All, all cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Iago.
Be wise, and get you home.

Æmil.
I will not. [Iago offers to stab his wife.

Gra.
Fie, your sword upon a woman?

Æmil.
Oh, 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!

Æmil.
She give it Cassio? alas, I found it,
And I did give't my husband.

Iago.
Filth, thou liest.

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.

Æmil.
Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' side.

Gra.
He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

Mon.
'Tis a notorious villain; 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,
For 'tis a damned slave. [Exeunt Mon. 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.
What did thy Song boad, lady?
Hark, can'st thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in musick; Willow, Willow, Willow—
Moor, she was chast; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor;
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, alas, 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 little arm, and this good sword,
I've made my way thro more impediments,
Than twenty times your stop. But, oh vain boast!
Who can controul his fate? 'tis not so now.
Be not afraid, tho you do see me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my Butt,
The 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? oh ill-starr'd Wench!
Pale as thy smock! When we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heav'n,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girl?
Ev'n like thy chastity. Oh cursed slave!
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—
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: here I am.

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

Oth.
I look down tow'rds his feet; but That's a fable.(54) ^note


If that thou beest a Devil, I cannot kill thee. [Othello wounds Iago.

Lod.
Wrench his sword from him.

Iago.
I bleed, Sir, but 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,
Fal'n in the practice of a cursed slave,—
What shall be said to 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 demy-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 never will speak word.

Lod.
What? not to pray?

Gra.
Torments will ope your lips.

Oth.
Well, thou dost best.

Lod.
Sir, you shall understand what hath befal'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!

Cas.
Most heathenish and most gross!

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 satisfy'd 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 it 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. 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 aught 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 extream; of one, whose hand,(55) ^note

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. [Stabs himself.

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, [To Desdem.
Killing my self, to die upon a kiss. [dies.

Cas.
This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;
For he was great of heart.

Lod.
Oh Spartan dog! [To Iago.
More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
Look on the tragick loading of this bed;
This is thy work; the object poisons sight,—
Let it be hid. 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 this hellish villain:
The time, the place, the torture, oh! inforce it.
My self will straight aboard; and to the State
This heavy act, with heavy heart, relate. [Exeunt.The End of the Seventh Volume.

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