HIS PATHETIC UPBRAIDING OF DESDEMONA.

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?

I understand a fury in your words,

But not the words.

Oth. Why, what art thou?

Des.

And loyal wife.

Oth.

Your wife, my lord: your true

Come, swear it, damn thyself;

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double-damn'd, Swear-thou art honest.

Des.

Heaven doth truly know it. Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell.

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom?

false ?

Oth. O Desdemona! away! away! away!

How am I

Des. Alas, the heavy day!-Why do you weep? Am I the occasion 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.

To try me with affliction;

Had it pleased Heaven
had He rain'd

All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head;
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience; but (alas!) to make me
A fix'd figure, for the hand of Scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at,-
O! O!

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!
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim ;
Ay, there, look grim as hell!

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,

* Treasured up.

That the sense aches at thee.-'Would thou hadst ne'er

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,-O 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, avaunt!

[Exit Desdemona.

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.

OTHELLO'S IRRESOLUTION TO MURDER DESDEMONA.

SCENE. A Bedchamber: Desdemona in bed, asleep. A light

burning.

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.

[Takes off his sword.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light :*

* i. e., The light of life.

If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me: but once put out thine,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume.

[rose, When I have pluck'd thy

I cannot give it vital growth again,
It needs must wither:-'I'll smell it on the tree.-

[Kissing her.

O 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, and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,

But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heavenly;
It strikes where it doth love.

HIS LOVE.

Had she been true,

If Heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,*

I'd not have sold her for it.

HIS SPEECH BEFORE HIS DEATH.

Soft you; a word or two before you go.

I have done the state some service, and they know it; 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 loved not wisely, but too well :

Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,

* A precious stone.

Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away,

Richer than all his tribe; of one, whose subdued 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 traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him-thus.

[Stabs himself.