Othello · Chapter 5Part 5
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Othe. Get me some poyson, Iago, this night. Ile not expostulate with her: least her body and beautie vnprouide my mind againe: this night Iago
Iago. Do it not with poyson, strangle her in her bed, Euen the bed she hath contaminated
Oth. Good, good: The Iustice of it pleases: very good
Iago. And for Cassio, let me be his vndertaker: You shall heare more by midnight. Enter Lodouico, Desdemona, and Attendants.
Othe. Excellent good: What Trumpet is that same? Iago. I warrant something from Venice, 'Tis Lodouico, this, comes from the Duke. See, your wife's with him
Lodo. Saue you worthy Generall
Othe. With all my heart Sir
Lod. The Duke, and the Senators of Venice greet you
Othe. I kisse the Instrument of their pleasures
Des. And what's the newes, good cozen Lodouico Iago. I am very glad to see you Signior: Welcome to Cyprus
Lod. I thanke you: how do's Lieutenant Cassio? Iago. Liues Sir, Des. Cozen, there's falne betweene him, & my Lord, An vnkind breach: but you shall make all well
Othe. Are you sure of that? Des. My Lord? Othe. This faile you not to do, as you will- Lod. He did not call: he's busie in the paper, Is there deuision 'twixt my Lord, and Cassio? Des. A most vnhappy one: I would do much T' attone, them, for the loue I beare to Cassio
Oth. Fire, and brimestone
Des. My Lord
Oth. Are you wise? Des. What is he angrie? Lod. May be the Letter mou'd him. For as I thinke, they do command him home, Deputing Cassio in his Gouernment
Des. Trust me, I am glad on't
Othe. Indeed? Des. My Lord? Othe. I am glad to see you mad
Des. Why, sweete Othello? Othe. Diuell
Des. I haue not deseru'd this
Lod. My Lord, this would not be beleeu'd in Venice, Though I should sweare I saw't. 'Tis very much, Make her amends: she weepes
Othe. Oh diuell, diuell: If that the Earth could teeme with womans teares, Each drop she falls, would proue a Crocodile: Out of my sight
Des. I will not stay to offend you
Lod. Truely obedient Lady: I do beseech your Lordship call her backe
Othe. Mistris
Des. My Lord
Othe. What would you with her, Sir? Lod. Who I, my Lord? Othe. I, you did wish, that I would make her turne: Sir, she can turne, and turne: and yet go on And turne againe. And she can weepe, Sir, weepe. And she's obedient: as you say obedient. Very obedient: proceed you in your teares. Concerning this Sir, (oh well-painted passion) I am commanded home: get you away: Ile send for you anon. Sir I obey the Mandate, And will returne to Venice. Hence, auaunt: Cassio shall haue my Place. And Sir, to night I do entreat, that we may sup together. You are welcome Sir to Cyprus. Goates, and Monkeys. Enter.
Lod. Is this the Noble Moore, whom our full Senate Call all in all sufficient? Is this the Nature Whom Passion could not shake? Whose solid vertue The shot of Accident, nor dart of Chance Could neither graze, nor pierce? Iago. He is much chang'd
Lod. Are his wits safe? Is he not light of Braine? Iago. He's that he is: I may not breath my censure. What he might be: if what he might, he is not, I would to heauen he were
Lod. What? Strike his wife? Iago. 'Faith that was not so well: yet would I knew That stroke would proue the worst
Lod. Is it his vse? Or did the Letters, worke vpon his blood, And new create his fault? Iago. Alas, alas: It is not honestie in me to speake What I haue seene, and knowne. You shall obserue him, And his owne courses will denote him so, That I may saue my speech: do but go after And marke how he continues
Lod. I am sorry that I am deceiu'd in him.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Othello and aemilia.
Othe. You haue seene nothing then? Aemil. Nor euer heard: nor euer did suspect
Othe. Yes, you haue seene Cassio, and she together
Aemi. But then I saw no harme: and then I heard, Each syllable that breath made vp betweene them
Othe. What? Did they neuer whisper? Aemil. Neuer my Lord
Othe. Nor send you out o'th' way? Aemil. Neuer
Othe. To fetch her Fan, her Gloues, her Mask, nor nothing? Aemil. Neuer my Lord
Othe. That's strange. Aemil. I durst (my Lord) to wager, she is honest: Lay downe my Soule at stake: If you thinke other, Remoue your thought. It doth abuse your bosome: If any wretch haue put this in your head, Let Heauen requit it with the Serpents curse, For if she be not honest, chaste, and true, There's no man happy. The purest of their Wiues Is foule as Slander
Othe. Bid her come hither: go.
Exit aemilia.
She saies enough: yet she's a simple Baud That 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'd All 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 Soule A drop of patience. But alas, to make me The 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 Toades To 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 Booke Made 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 Earth And 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 touch Be 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 sticke The 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 Babes Do it with gentle meanes, and easie taskes. He might haue chid me so; for in good faith I 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 her That 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 whip To 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 was That 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 Sence Delighted them: or any other Forme. Or that I do not yet, and euer did, And euer will, (though he do shake me off To 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 finde That 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 and Performances 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 from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place
Rod. Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona returne 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's place: 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 your Ladyship
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'd forthwith: dismisse your Attendant there: look't be 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 me In 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 side And 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 moanes Sing 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 husbands In 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, as would store the world they plaid for. But I do thinke it is their Husbands faults If 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 large Of 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 Moore May 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 vnsafe To 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, and Weapons
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 suspect Who 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 Chaire To beare him easily hence
Bian. Alas he faints. Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio
Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this Trash To 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 Countryman Rodorigo? 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 speake Though 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 darke By 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 night That 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 heate That 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 perswade Iustice 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 Crime Vnreconcil'd as yet to Heauen, and Grace, Solicite for it straight