 Act III of Othello by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act III. Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle. Enter Casio and some musicians. Masters play here. I will content your pains. Something that's brief and bid Good morrow, General. Music. Enter Clown. Why, Masters? Have your instruments been in Naples that they speak I the nose thus? How, sir? How? Are these, I pray you, wind instruments? I? Mary are they, sir? Oh! Thereby hangs a tail. Whereby hangs a tail, sir? Mary, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, Masters, here's money for you, and the General so likes your music that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it. Well, sir, we will not. If you have any music that may not be heard, to it again. But, as they say, to hear music the General does not greatly care. We have none such, sir. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for all away. Go, vanish into air, away. Exant musicians. Dost thou hear, my nonnest friend? No. I hear not your honest friend. I hear you. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee. If the gentlewoman that attends the General's wife be stirring, tell her there's one casio, and treats her a little favor of speech. Wilt thou do this? She is stirring, sir. If she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. Do, good my friend. Exit clown. Enter Iago. In happy time, Iago. You have not been a bed, then. Why, no. The day had broke before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, to send into your wife. My suit to her is that she will to virtuous Desdemona procure me some access. I'll send her to you presently. And I'll devise a mean to draw the more out of the way, that your converse in business may be more free. I humbly thank you for it. Exit Iago. I never knew a Florentine more kind and honest. Enter Emilia. Good morrow, good Lieutenant. I am sorry for your displeasure, but all will sure be well. The General and his wife are talking of it, and she speaks for you stoutly. The more replies that he you hurt is of great fame and cypress and great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom he might not but refuse you. But he protests, he loves you, and needs no other suitor but his likings to take the safest occasion by the front to bring you in again. Yet I beseech you. If you think fit, or that it may be done, give me advantage of some brief discourse with Desdemona alone. Pray you come in. I will bestow you where you shall have time to speak your bosom freely. I am much bound to you. Exit. Scene two. Cypress, a room in the castle. Enter Othello, Iago, and gentlemen. These letters give Iago to the pilot, and by him do my duties to the senate. That, then, I will be walking on the works. Repair there to me. Well, my good lord, I'll do it. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see it? We wait upon your lordship. Exit. Scene three. Cypress, the garden of the castle. Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. Be thou assured, good Cassio. I will do all my abilities in thy behalf. Good madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband as if the cause were his. Oh, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio. But I will have my lord and you again as friendly as you were. Bounteous madam, whatever shall become of Michael Cassio He's never anything but your true servant. I know it. I thank you. You do love my lord. You have known him long, and be you well assured he shall in strangeness stand no farther off than in a political distance. Aye, but lady, that policy may either last so long, or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, or breed itself so out of circumstance, that, I being absent, at my place supplied, my general will forget my love in service. Do not doubt that. Before Emilia here, I give thee warrant of thy place. Assured thee, if I do wow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article. My lord shall never rest. I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience. His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift. I'll intermingle everything he does with Cassio's suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio, for thy solicitor shall rather die than give thy cause away. Madam, here comes my lord. Madam, I'll take my leave. Why stay, and hear me speak. Madam, not now. I am very ill at ease, unfit for my own purposes. Well, do your discretion. Exit Cassio. Enter Othello and Iago. Huh, I like not that. What does thou say? Nothing, my lord, or if... I know not what. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? Cassio, my lord. No, sure, I cannot think it. That he would steal away so guilty like seeing you coming. I do believe it was he. How now, my lord? I have been talking with a suitor here, a man that languishes in your displeasure. Who is it you mean? Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good, my lord, if I have any grace or power to move you, his present reconciliation take. For if he be not one that truly loves you, that errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face. I pretty call him back. Went he hence now? Ay, sooth, so humbled that he has left part of his grief with me to suffer with him. Good love, call him back. Not now, sweet Desdemon, some other time. But shall be shortly. The sooner sweet for you. Shall be tonight at supper. No, not tonight. Tomorrow dinner, then. I shall not dine at home. I meet the captains at the citadel. Why, then, tomorrow night or Tuesday morning, on Tuesday noon or night, on Wednesday morning, I pretty name the time, but let it not exceed three days. In faith he is penitent, and yet his trespass in our common reason, save that they say the wars must make examples out of their best, is not almost a fault to incur a private check. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello, I wonder in my soul what you would ask me, that I should deny or stand so mammoring on. What, Michael Casio, that came a-wooing with you, and so many a time when I have spoke of you dispraisingly, hath taken your part, to have so much to do to bring him in? Trust me, I could do much. Prithee, no more. Let him come when he will. I will deny thee nothing. Why, this is not a boon. He says I should entreat you wear your gloves, or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, or soothe you to do a peculiar profit to your own person. Nay, when I have a suit wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, it shall be full of poise and difficult weight, and fearful to be granted. I will deny thee nothing. Whereon I do beseech thee grant me this, to leave me but a little to myself. Shall I deny you? No. Farewell, my lord. Farewell, my Desdemona. I'll come to thee straight. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you. Whatever you be, I am obedient. Exit with Emilia. Excellent wretch. Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee, and when I love thee not, chaos is come again. My noble lord. What dost thou say, Yago? Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady, know of your love? He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask? But for a satisfaction of my thought. No further harm. Why of thy thought, Yago? I did not think he had been acquainted with her. Oh, yes, and went between us very oft. Indeed. Indeed. I indeed. Dissernest thou ought in that? Is he not honest? Honest, my lord. Honest. I, honest. My lord, for ought I know. What dost thou think? Think, my lord. Think, my lord, by heaven he echoes me, as if there were some monster in his thought too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something. I heard thee say, even now, thou likest not that when Cassio left my wife. What didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel in my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, indeed, and didst contract and purse thy brow together, as if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, show me thy thought. My lord, you know I love you. I think thou dost. And for I know thou art full of love and honesty, and waste thy words before thou givest them breath. Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more. For such things in a false disloyal nave are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just, they are close delations working from the heart that passion cannot rule. For, Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. I think so too. Men should be what they seem, or those that be not. Would they might seem none. Certain men should be what they seem. Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man. Nay, yet there's more in this. I pretty speak to me as to thy thinkings, as thou dost ruminate and give thy worst of thoughts the worst of words. Good my lord, pardon me. Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Outer my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and false, as where's that palace where unto foul things sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure, but some uncleanly apprehensions keep leaps and laudays, and in sessions sit with meditations lawful? Thou dost conspire against thy friendiago if thou but thinkst him wronged, and makest his ear a stranger to thy thoughts. I do beseech you, though I perchance ambitious in my guess, as I confess it is my nature's plague to spy into abuses, and of my jealousy shape faults that are not, that your wisdom yet, from one that so imperfectly conceits, would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet, nor your good, nor for my manhood honesty or wisdom to let you know my thoughts. Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse, steals trash, is something nothing. Twas mind is his, and has been slaved to thousands, but he that filters from me my good name, robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand, nor shall not whilst his in my custody. Huh, I'll beware, my lord of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss, who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger. But oh, what damned in minutes tells he o'er, who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves. Oh, misery. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough. But riches finless is as poor as winter to him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend from jealousy. Why, why is this? Thinkest thou I'd make a life of jealousy, to follow still the changes of the moon with fresh suspicions? No, to be once in doubt is once to be resolved. Exchange me for a goat when I shall turn the business of my soul to such exufflicate and blown surmises matching thy inference. Tis not to make me jealous to say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well, where virtue is, these are more virtuous. Nor from my own weak merits will I draw the smallest fear or doubt of her revolt, for she had eyes, and chose me. No, Yago, I'll see before I doubt. When I doubt, prove, and on the proof there is no more but this, away at once with love or jealousy. I am glad of it. For now I shall have reason to show the love and duty that I bear you with Franker's spirit, therefore, as I am bound, receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife. Observe her well with casio. Wear your eye. Thus, not jealous nor secure. I would not have your free and noble nature out of self bounty be abused. Look to it. I know our country disposition well. In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks they dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience is not to leave undone, but keep unknown. Thus thou say so. She did deceive her father marrying you. And when she seemed to shake and fear your looks, she loved the most. And so she did. Why, go to, then, she that so young could give out such a seeming, to seal her father's eyes up close as oak, he thought was witchcraft. But I am much to blame. I humbly do beseech you of your pardon for too much loving you. I am bound to thee forever. I see this hath a little dashed your spirits. Not a jot. Not a jot. Trust me, I fear it has. I hope you will consider what his spoke comes from my love. But I do see you moved. I am to pray you not to strain my speech to grosser issues, nor to larger reach than to suspicion. I will not. Should you do so, my lord, my speech should fall into such vile success, which my thoughts aimed not. Cassio's my worthy friend. My lord, I see you're moved. No, not much moved. I do not think but Desdemon is honest. Long live she so, and long live you to think so. And yet, how nature airing from itself. Aye, there's the point, as to be bold with you, not to effect many proposed matches of her own climb, complexion, and degree, where to we see in all things nature tends. One may smell in such a will most rank, foul disproportion, and thoughts unnatural. But pardon me, I do not in position distinctly speak of her. Though I may fear her will, recoiling to her better judgment, may fail to match you with her country forms, and happily repent. Farewell, farewell. If more thou dost perceive, let me know more. Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Yago. Going. My lord, I take my leave. Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. Returning. My lord, I would I might entreat your honor to scan this thing no further. Leave it to time. Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, for sure he fills it up with great ability. Yet if you please to hold him off a while, you shall by that perceive him and his means. Note if your lady strain his entertainment with any strong or vehement importunity. Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, let me be thought too busy in my fears, as worthy cause I have to fear I am. And hold her free, I do beseech your honor. Fear not, my government. I once more take my leave. Exit. This fellow's of exceeding honesty and knows all qualities with a learned spirit of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard, though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I'd whistle her off and let her down the wind to pray at fortune. Happily for I am black and have not those soft parts of conversation that chamberers have. Or for I am declined into the veil of years. Yet that's not much. She's gone. I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, that we can call these delicate creatures ours and not their appetites. I'd rather be a toad and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others' uses. Yet, tis the plague of great ones, prerogative'd are they less than the base. Tis destiny unshunnable like death. Even then this forket plague is fated to us when we do quicken. Desdemona comes. Have she be false? All then heaven mocks itself. I'll not believe it. Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia. How now, my dear Othello? Your dinner and the generous islanders by you invited do attend your presence. I am to blame. Why do you speak so faintly? Are you not well? I have a pain upon my forehead here. Faith, that's with watching. Twill away again. Let me but bind it hard. Within this hour it will be well. Your napkin is too little. He puts the handkerchief from him and she drops it. Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. I am very sorry that you are not well. Exiant Othello and Desdemona. I am glad I have found this napkin. This was her first remembrance from the Moor. My wayward husband hath a hundred times wooed me to steal it. But she so loves the token, for he conjured her she should ever keep it, that she reserves it ever more about her to kiss and talk to. I'll have the work tane out and give it Yago. What he will do with it, heaven knows, not I. I nothing but to please his fantasy. Re-enter Yago. How now? What do you hear alone? Do not you chide. I have a thing for you. A thing for me? It is a common thing. Huh? To have a foolish wife. Oh, is that all? What will you give me now for that same handkerchief? What handkerchief? What handkerchief? Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona. That which so often you did bid me steal. Hast storm it from her? No faith. She let it drop by negligence, and to the advantage I being here took it up. Look, here it is. A good wench. Give it me. What will you do with it, that you have been so earnest to have me filch it? Snatching it. Why, what's that to you? If it be not for some purpose of import, give it me again. Poor lady shall run mad when she shall lack it. Be not act no, Nond. I have use for it. Go, leave me. Exit Emilia. I will, in Cassio's lodging, lose this napkin. And let him find it. Trifle's light as air are to the jealous confirmation strong as proofs of holy writ. This may do something. The Moor already changes with my poison. Dangerous conceits are in their nature's poisons, which at the first are scarce found to distaste, but, with a little act upon the blood, burn like the mines of Sulphur. I did say so. Look where he comes. Not poppy nor mandrageron, or all the drowsy syrups of the world shall ever meds and lead to that sweet sleep, which thou urged yesterday. Re-enter, Othello. False to me. Why, how now, General? No more of that. Avante be gone, thou hast set me on the rack. I swear it is better to be much abused than but to know it a little. How now, my lord? What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust? I saw it not, thought it not, it harmed not me. I slept the next night well, was free and merry. I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips. He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, let him not know it, and he's not robbed at all. I am sorry to hear this. I had been happy if the General Camp, pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, so I had nothing known. O now, for ever, farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content, farewell the plummet troop and the big wars that make ambition virtue, oh, farewell, farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, the spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, the royal banner and all-quality pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war, and, oh, you mortal engines, whose rude throats the immortal Joe's dead clamors counterfeit, farewell, Othello's occupations gone. It's possible, my lord. Villain, be sure, thou prove my love a whore. Taking him by the throat. Be sure of it. Give me the ocular proof, or by the worth of man's eternal soul, thou hath been better have been born a dog than answer my weight wrath. It's come to this. Make me to see it, or at the least so prove it that the probation bear no hinge nor loop to hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life. My noble lord. If thou dost slander her and torture me, never pray more, abandon all remorse, on horrors head horrors accumulate. Do deeds to make heaven weep all earth amazed, for nothing canst thou to damnation add greater than that. O grace! O heaven defend me! Are you a man? Have you a soul or sense? God be with you! You take mine, office! O wretched fool that lives to make thine honesty a vice! O monstrous world! Take note, take note! O world, to be directed honest is not safe! I thank you for this, prophet, and from that all love no friends, his love breeds such a fence. Nay, stay, thou shouldst be honest. I should be wise, for honesty's a fool, and loses that it works for. By the world I think my wife be honest, and think she is not. I think that thou art just, and think thou art not. I'll have some proof. Her name that was as fresh as Diane's visage is now begrim'd, and black as mine own face. If there be cords or knives, poison or fire or suffocating streams, I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied? I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion. I do repent me that I put it to you. You would be satisfied? Would, nay, I will. And may, but how? How satisfied my lord? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on, behold her topped? Death and damnation, oh! It were a tedious difficulty, I think, to bring them to that prospect. Damn them, then, if ever mortalized do see them bolster more than their own. What, then? How, then? What shall I say? Where is satisfaction? It is impossible you should see this were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, as salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross as ignorance made drunk. But yet I say, if imputation and strong circumstances, which lead directly to the door of truth will give you satisfaction, you may have'd. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. I do not like the office. But, sith I am entered in this cause so far, pricked to it by foolish honesty and love, I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, and, being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep. There are a kind of men so loose of soul, that in their sleeps will mutter their affairs. One of this kind is Cassio. In sleep I heard him say, Sweet Desdemona, let us be wary, let us hide our loves. And then, sir, would he gripe and ring my hand, cry, Oh, sweet creature, and then kiss me hard, as if you plucked up kisses by the roots that grew upon my lips. Then laid his leg over my thigh and sighed and kissed, and then cried, cursed fate that gave thee to them more. Oh, monstrous, monstrous. Nay, this was but his dream. But this denoted a foregone conclusion, tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. And this may help to thicken other proofs that do demonstrate thinly. I'll tear her all to pieces. Nay, but be wise, yet we see nothing done. She may be honest, yet. Tell me this. Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand? I gave her such a want was my first gift. I know not that. But such a handkerchief, I'm sure it was your wife's. Did I today see Cassio wipe his beard with? If it be that, If it be that, or any that was hers, it speaks against her with the other proofs. Oh, that the slave had forty thousand lives, one is too poor, too weak for my revenge. Now do I see tis true. Look here, Yago, all my fond love, thus do I blow to heaven, tis gone. Her eyes black vengeance from thy hollow cell, yield up o' love thy crown, and hearted throne to tyrannous hate. Swell bosom with thy fraught, for tis of aspects tongues. Yet be content. Oh, blood, blood, blood. Patience, I say. Your mind, perhaps, may change. Never, Yago, like to the Pontic sea, whose icy current and compulsive course, Nair feels retiring, Eb, but keeps due on to the propontic and the helispont. Even so, my bloody thoughts with violent pace shall Nair look back, Nair, Eb, to humble love, till that a capable and wide revenge swallow them up. Now, by yawned marble heaven, in the due reverence of a sacred vow, Niels, I here engage my words. Do not rise yet. Niels. Witness, you ever-burning lights above you elements that clip us round about. Witness, that here, Yago doth give up the execution of his wit, hands, heart, to wronged Othello's service. Let him command, and to obey shall be in me remorse. What bloody business ever. They rise. I greet my love, not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, and will upon the instant put thee to it. Within these three days, let me hear thee say that Cassio's not alive. My friend is dead. It is done at your request. But let her live. Damn her, lewd minx. Oh, damn her. Come, go with me apart. I will withdraw to furnish me, with some swift means of death for the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. I am your own, forever. Exiant. Scene four, Cyprus, before the castle. Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. Do you know, Sirah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies? I dare not say he lies anywhere. Why, man? He's a soldier, and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing. Go to where lodges he? To tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie. Can anything be made of this? I know not where he lodges. And for me to devise a logic and say he lies here or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. Can you inquire him out and be edified by report? I will cataclyse the world for him. That is, make questions and by them answer. Seek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and hope all will be well. To do this is within the compass of man's wit, and therefore I will attempt the doing it. Exit. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia? I know not, madam. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse full of crusados, and but my noble moor is true of mind, and made of no such baseness as jealous creatures are. It were enough to put him to ill thinking. Is he not jealous? Who? He? I think the son where he was born drew all such humours from him. Look where he comes. I will not leave him now till Cassio be called to him. Enter Othello. How is it with you, my lord? Well, my good lady. Aside. Oh, hardness to dissemble. How do you do, Desdemona? Well, my good lord. Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady. It yet hath felt no age, nor known no sorrow. This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart, hot, hot and moist. This hand of yours requires a sequester from liberty. Fasting and prayer, much castigation, exercise devout. For here's a young and sweating devil here that commonly rebels. It is a good hand, a frank one. You may indeed say so, but was that hand that gave away my heart? A liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands, but our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise. What promise, Chuck? I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. I have a salt and sorry room, offends me. Lend me thy handkerchief. Here, my lord. That which I gave you. I have it not about me. Not? No, faith, my lord. That is the fault. That handkerchief did an Egyptian to my mother give. She was a charmer and could almost read the thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it, to make her amiable and subdue my father entirely to her love. But if she lost it, or made gift of it, my father's eye should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt after new fancies. She, dying, gave it me, and bid me when my fate would have me wife to give it her. I did so, and take heed on it, make it a darling like your precious eye, to lose it, or give it away, where such perdition as nothing else could match. Is it possible? It is true there's magic in the web of it, a symbol that had numbered in the world the sun to course two hundred compasses, and her prophetic fury sowed the work. The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk, and it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful conserved of maiden's hearts. Indeed it is true. Most veritable, therefore look to it well. Then would to God that I had never seen it. Ha! Wherefore? Why do you speak so statically and rush? Is it lost? Is it gone? Speak, is it out of the way? Heaven bless us. Say you? It is not lost. But what, and if it were? How? I say it is not lost. Fetch it, let me see it. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now. This is a trick to put me from my suit. Pray you, let Casio be received again. Fetch me the handkerchief, my mind, Miss Giths. Come, come, you'll never meet a more sufficient man. The handkerchief. I pray, talk me of Casio. The handkerchief. A man that all his time hath founded his good fortunes on your love, shared dangers with you. The handkerchief. In sooth you are to blame. Away. Exit. Is not this man jealous? I never saw this before. Sure there's some wonder in this handkerchief. I am most unhappy in the loss of it. It is not a year or two shows us a man. They are all but stomachs, and we all but food. They eat us hungrily, and when they are full, they belch us. Look you, Casio and my husband. Enter Casio and Iago. There is no other way, to she must do it. And lo the happiness. Go and import, you know. How now, good Casio, what's the news with you? Madam, my former suit, I do beseech you that by your virtuous means I may again exist and be a member of his love, whom I, with all the office of my heart, entirely honor. I would not be delayed. If my offence be of such mortal kind, that not my service past, nor present sorrows, nor purposed merit in futurity can ransom me into his love again, but to know so must be my benefit. So shall I clothe me in a forced content, and shut myself up in some other course to fortune's alms. Alas, thrice gentle Casio, my application is not now in tune. My lord is not my lord, nor should I know him, where he in favor as in humor altered. So help me every spirit sanctified, as I have spoken for you all my best, and stood within the blank of his displeasure for my free speech. You must a while be patient. What I can do, I will, and more I will than for myself I dare. Let that suffice you. Is my lord angry? He went hence but now, and certainly in strange unquietness. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon when it had blown his ranks into the air, and like the devil from his very arm puffed his own brother. And can he be angry? Something of moment then. I will go to meet him. There is matter in it indeed if he be angry. I pre-thee, do so. Exit Iago. Something sure of state, either from Venice or some unhatched practice made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, hath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases men's natures wrangle with inferior things, though great ones are their object. Tis even so, for let our finger ache, and it induce our other healthful members even to that sense of pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods, nor of them look for such observancy as fits the bridal. Be shrew me much, Emilia. I was unhandsome warrior as I am, arraining his unkindness with my soul, but now I find I had suborned the witness, and he's indicted falsely. Pray heaven it be state matters as you think, and no conception nor no jealous toy concerning you. Alas the day, I never gave him cause. But jealous souls will not be answered so. They are not ever jealous for the cause, but jealous for they are jealous. Tis a monster begot upon itself, borne on itself. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind. Lady, amen. I will go seek him. Casio, walk here about. If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, and seek to effect it to my uttermost. I humbly thank your ladyship. Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. Enter Bianca. Save you, friend Casio. What make you from home? How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? In faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. And I was going to your lodging, Casio. What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights? Eight score eight hours? And love is absent hours, more tedious than the dial eight score times? Oh, weary reckoning. Pardon me, Bianca. I have this while with let in thoughts been pressed, but I shall in a more continued time strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca. Giving her Desdemona's handkerchief. Take me this work out. Oh, Casio, whence came this? This is some token from a newer friend. To the failed absence now I feel the cause. Is it come to this? Well, well. Go to, woman. Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth from whence you have them. You are jealous now that this is from some mistress, some remembrance. No, in good troth, Bianca. Why? Who's is it? I know not neither. I found it in my chamber. I like the work well. ere it be demanded, as like enough it will, I'd have it copied. Take it, and do it, and leave me for this time. Leave you? Where for? I do attend here on the general, and think it no addition, nor my wish to have him see me womaned. Why, I pray you? Not that I love you not. But that you do not love me. I pray you, bring me on the way a little, and say if I shall see you soon at night. Tis but a little way that I can bring you, for I attend here, but I'll see you soon. Tis very good. I must be circumcised. Exeant. End of Act Three. Act Four of Othello by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act Four. Scene One. Cyprus. Before the castle. Enter Othello and Iago. Will you think so? Think so, Iago. What, a kiss in private? An unauthorized kiss. Or to be naked with her friend in bed an hour or more, not meaning any harm. Naked in bed Iago and not mean harm? It is hypocrisy against the devil. They that mean virtuously and yet do so, the devil there virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven. So they do nothing, Tis a venial slip, but if I give my wife a handkerchief. What, then? Why, then, Tis hers, my lord, and being hers, she may, I think, bestowed on any man. She is protectress of her honour, too. May she give that? Her honour is an essence that's not seen. They have it oft, that have it not, but for the handkerchief. By heaven I would most gladly have forgot it. Thou saidst, O what comes o'er my memory astuth the raven or the infected house boating to all, he had my handkerchief. Aye, what of that? That's not so good now. What, if I had said, I had seen him, do you wrong? Or heard him say, as names be such abroad, who, having by their own importunate suit or voluntary dotage of some mistress, convinced said or supplied them, cannot choose but they must blab. Heth he said anything? He tath, my lord, but be well assured, no more than he'll unswear. What heth he said? Faith that he did. I know not what he did. What, what? Lie. With her? With her on her, what ye will. Lie with her, lie on her. We say lie on her when they be lie her. Lie with her, that's fulsome. Handkerchief, confession, handkerchief, to confess and be hanged for his labour. First to be hanged and then to confess, I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake me thus. Pish, noses, ears and lips, is it possible? Confess, handkerchief, devil. Falls in a trance. Work on, my medicine, work. Thus credulous fools are caught. And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, all guiltless meet reproach. What ho, my lord? My lord, I say, a fellow. Enter Cassio. How now, Cassio? What's the matter? My lord has fallen into an epilepsy. This is his second fit. He had one yesterday. Rub him about the temples. 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 yourself 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 heard your head? Thus thou mock me. I mock you. No, by heaven. Would you would bear your fortune like a man? A horned man's a monster and a beast. There's many a beast then in a populous city, and many a civil monster. Did he confess it? Good sir, be a man. Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked may draw with you. There's millions now alive that nightly lie in those unproper beds which they dare swear peculiar. Your case is better. Ah, it is the spite of hell the fiend's arch mock to lip a wanton in a secure couch and to suppose her chaste. No, let me know, and knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. O thou art wise to certain. Stand you a while apart. Confine yourself but in a patient list. Whilst you were here or wound with your grief, a passion most unsuiting such a man. Cassio came hither. I shifted him away and laid good excuse upon your ecstasy. Bad him a non-return and here speak with me, the which he promised. Do but encave yourself and mark the flears, the jibes, 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 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 a spleen and nothing of a man. Thus thou hear, Yago, I will be found most cunning in my patience, but thus thou hear most bloody. That's not a miss, but yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw? A fellow withdraws. Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, a housewife that, by selling her desires, buys herself bread and clothes. It is a creature that dotes on Cassio, as tis the strumpets plague to beguile many and be beguiled by one. He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain from the excess of laughter. Here he comes. As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad, and his unbookish jealousy must construe poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behavior quite in the wrong. Re-enter, Cassio. How do you now, Lieutenant? The worser that you give me the addition, whose want even kills me. Ply, Desdemona, well, and your sure-aunt. Speaking lower. Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, how quickly should you speed? Alas, poor Cative. Aside. Look how he laughs already. I never knew a woman loved man so. Alas, poor Rogue, I think in faith she loves me. Aside. Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out. Do you hear, Cassio? Now he importunes him to tell it or go to, well said, well said. She gives it out that you will marry her. Do you intend it? Ha, ha, ha. Do you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph? I marry her. What? A customer. I, Prithee, bear some charity to my wit. Do not think it's so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha. So, so, so, so, they laugh that win. Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her. Prithee, say true. I am a very villain, Alas. Have you scored me? Well. This is the monkey's own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise. Yago beckons me, now he begins the story. She was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other day talking on the seabank with certain Venetians, and thither comes the bobble, and falls thus about my neck. Crying, oh dear Cassio, as it were, whose gesture imports it. So hangs, and lulls, and weeps upon me. So hails and pulls me. Ha, ha, ha. Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. Oh, I see that nose of yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to. Well, I must leave her company. Before me, look where she comes. Tis such another fit you. Marry a perfumed one. Enter Bianca. What do you mean by this haunting of me? Let the devil and his damn haunt you. What did you mean by that same handkerchief you gave me even now? I was fine fool to take it. I must take out the work. A likely piece of work that you should find it in your chamber, and not know who left it there. This is some minx 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. How now, my sweet Bianca? How now? How now? By heaven, that should be my handkerchief. And you'll come to supper tonight, you may. And you will not come when you are next prepared for. Exit. After her, after her. Faith, I must. She'll rail in the street else. Will you sup there? Faith, I intend so. Well, I may chance to see you. For I would very faint speak with you. Prithee, come, will you? Go to, say no more. Exit Casio. Coming forward. How shall I murder him, Yago? Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice? Oh, Yago. And did you see the handkerchief? Was that mine? 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. I would have him nine years a killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a sweet woman. Nay, you must forget that. I let her rot and perish and be damned to night, for she shall not live. No, my heart is turned to stone. I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an emperor's side and command him tasks. Nay, that's not your way. 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. She's the worst for all this. Oh, a thousand, a thousand times. And then a so gentle a condition? Aye, too gentle. Nay, that's certain, but yet the pity of it, Yago. Oh, Yago, the pity of it, Yago. Well, if you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend. For if it touch not you, it comes near nobody. I will chop her into messes, cuckold me. Oh, it is foul in her. With mine, officer. That's fouler. Get me some poison, Yago, this night. I'll not expostulate with her lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Yago. Do it not with poison. Strangle her in her bed. Even the bed she hath contaminated. Good, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good. And for Casio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by midnight. Excellent good. A trumpet within. What trumpet is that same? Something from Venice, sure. It is Lodovico. Come from the duke and see your wife is with him. Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and attendance. Save your worthy general. With all my heart, sir. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. Gives him a packet. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. Opens the packet and reads. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico? I am very glad to see you, senior. Welcome to Cyprus. I thank you. How dost liften and Casio? Lives, sir. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my lord an unkind breach. But you shall make all well. Are you sure of that? My lord? Reads. This fail you not to do as you will. He did not call. He's busy in the paper. Is there a division at fixed my lord and Casio? A most unhappy one. I would do much to atone them for the love I bear to Casio. Fire and brimstone. My lord? Are you wise? What is he angry? Maybe the letter moved him. For as I think they do command him home, deputing Casio in his government. Trust me, I'm glad on it. Indeed. My lord? I am glad to see you mad. Why, sweet Othello? Devil? Striking her. I have not deserved this. My lord, this would not be believed in Venice. Though I should swear I sought this very much, make her amends, she weeps. Oh, devil, devil, if that the earth could team with women's tears, each drop she falls would prove a crocodile out of my sight. I will not stay to offend you. Going. Truly in obedient, lady. I do beseech your lordship, call her back. Mistress? My lord? What would you with her, sir? Who? I, my lord? Aye, 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 a none. Sir, I obey the mandate, and will return to Venice. Hence, avante. Exit Desdemona. Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight I do entreat that we may sup together. You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Coats and monkeys. Exit. Is this the noble moor whom our full senate call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature whom passion could not shake, whose solid virtue, the shot of accident nor dart of chance, could neither grace nor pierce? He is much changed. Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain? He is that he is. I may not breathe my sensual what he might be. If what he might, he is not. I would to heaven he were. What strike his wife? Faith, that was not so well. Yet would I knew that stroke would prove the worst? Is it his use, or did the letters work upon his blood, and newcrate this fault? Alas. Alas. It is not honesty in me to speak what I have seen and known. New shall observe him, and his own courses will denote him so that I may save my speech. Do but go after and mark how he continues. I am sorry that I am deceived in him. Exiant. Scene two. Cyprus. A room in the castle. Enter Othello and Emilia. You have seen nothing then. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. But then I saw no harm, and then I heard each syllable that breath made up between them. What, did they never whisper? Never, my lord. Nor send you out of the way? Never. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing? Never, my lord. That's strange. 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 heaven requite it with the serpent's curse. For if she be not honest, chaste and true, there's no man happy. The purest of their wives is foul as slander. Bid her come hither, go. Exit, Emilia. She says enough, yet she's a simple bod that cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, a closet lock and key of villainous secrets, and yet she'll kneel and pray I have seen her do it. Enter, Emilia, with Desdemona. My lord, what is your will? Pray, Chuck, come hither. What is your pleasure? Let me see your eyes, look in my face. What horrible fancy is this? To Emilia. Some of your function, mistress, leave procreants alone and shut the door. Cough or cry him, if anybody come. Your mystery, your mystery, may dispatch. Exit, Emilia. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import? I understand a fury in your words, but not the words. Why, what art thou? Your wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife. Come, swear it, damn thyself, lest being like one of heaven the devils themselves should fear to seize thee. Therefore, be double-dammed, swear thou art honest. Heaven doth truly know it. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell. To whom, my lord, with whom, how am I false? Oh, Desdemona, away, away, away. Alas, the heavy day, why do you weep? Am I the motive of these tears, my lord? If happily 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. Had it pleased heaven to try me with affliction, had they reigned all kinds of sores and shames on my bare head, steeped me in poverty to the very lips, given to captivity me and my utmost 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 time for scorn to point his slow, unmoving finger at. Yet could I bear that, too? Well, very well, but there, where I have garnered up my heart, where either I must live or bear no life, the fountain from which my current runs, or else drives 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-lipped cherubin, I there look grim as hell. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. O I, as summer flies are in the shambles that quicken even with blowing, O thou weed, who art so lovely fair and smellest so sweet that the scents aches at thee, would thou had'st near been born. Alas, what ignorance sin have I committed? Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, made to write whore upon? What committed? Committed, O thou public commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks that would to cinders burn up modesty. Did I but speak thy deeds? What committed? Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks. The body wind that kisses all it meets is hushed within the hollow mine of earth, and will not hear it. What committed? Impudence, trumpet! By heaven, you do me wrong. Are you not a trumpet? 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 trumpet, I am none. What, not a whore? No, as I shall be saved. Is it possible? O heaven, forgive us! I cry you mercy, then. I took you for that cunning whore of Venice that married with a fellow. You, mistress, that have the office opposite the St. Peter and keep the gate of hell. Re-enter, Emilia. You, you, are you? We have done our course. There's money for your pains. I pray you turn the key and keep our counsel. Exit. Alas! What does this gentleman conceive? How do you, madam? How do you, my good lady? Faith, half asleep. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord? With who? Why, with my lord, madam. Who is thy lord? He that is your sweet lady. I have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia. I cannot weep nor answer have I none, but what should go by water. Prithee, tonight lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember, and call thy husband hither. Here's a change indeed. Exit. To smith I should be used so, very meat. How have I been behaved that he might stick the smallest opinion on my last misuse? Re-enter, Emilia, with Iago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is it with you? I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes do it with gentle means and easy tasks. He might have cheat me so, for in good faith I am a child to triding. What's the matter, lady? Alas, Iago! My lord hath so behoored her, throne such despite and heavy terms upon her as true hearts cannot bear. Am I that name, Iago? What name, fair lady? Such as she says my lord did say I was. He called her whore. A beggar in his drink could not have laid such terms upon his callot. Why did he so? I do not know. I am sure I am none such. Do not weep. Do not weep. Alas, the day. How hath she forsook so many noble matches, her father and her country and her friends, to be called whore? Would it not make one weep? It is my wretched fortune. Bishrew him forth! How comes this trick upon him? Nay, heaven does know. I will be hanged, if some eternal villain, some busy and insinuating rogue, some cogging, cousining slave, to get some office have not devised this slander. I'll be hanged else. Fy, there is no such man. It is impossible. If any such there be, heaven pardon him. 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 likelihood? The whore's abused by some most villainous knave, some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow. Oh, heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold, and put in every honest hand a whip to lash the rascals naked through the world, even from the east to the west. Speak within the door. Oh, fire upon them! Some such squire he was that turned your wit to the seamy side without, and made you to suspect me with the moor. You are a fool, go to! Alas, Iago, what shall I do to win my lord again? Good friend, go to him, for by this light of heaven I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel. If ever my will did trespass against his love, either in discourse of thought or actual deed, or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense delighted them in 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 for swear me. Unkindness may do much, and his unkindness may defeat my life, but never taint my love. I cannot say whore. It does uphold me now, I speak the word, to do the act that might the addition earn, not the world's mass of vanity could make me. I pray you be content. Tis but his humour. The business of the state does him some offence, and he does chide with you. If to earn no other. Tis but so, I warrant. Trumpets within. Hark how these instruments summon to supper. The messengers of Venice stay the meat. Go in and weep not, all things shall be well. Exiant Desdemona and Emilia. Enter Radarigo. How now, Radarigo? I do not find that thou dealest justly with me. What in the contrary? Every day thou dastest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it seems to me now, keep us from me all conveniency, than supplies me with the least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it, nor am I yet persuaded to put up in peace, what I have already foolishly suffered. Will you hear me, Radarigo? Faith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no kin together. You charge me most unjustly. With naught but truth, I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels you have had for me to deliver to Desdemona would have half corrupted a voterist. You have told me she hath received them, and returned to me expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance. But I find none. Well, go to. Very well. Very well. Go to. I cannot go to, men, but tis not very well. And I say, tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fobbed in it. Very well. I tell you, tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona, that she will return to me my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my unlawful solicitation. Not assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you. You have said now. I have said nothing but what I protest in tenements of doing. Why, now I see there's metal in thee. And even from this instant, do you build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Rodrigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I protest and have dealt most directly in thy affair. It hath not appeared. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But, Rodrigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which I have greater reason to believe now than ever, I mean, purpose, courage and valor, this night show it. If thou the next night following in joy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery and devise engines for my life. Well, what is it? Is it with reason and compass? Sir, there is a special commission come from Venice to depute Casio in Othello's place. Is that true? Why, then? Othello and Desdemona be turning out to Venice. Oh, no. He goes into Mauritania and takes away with him the fair Desdemona. Unless he's abode be lingered here by some accident, wherein none can be so determinate as the removing of Casio. How do you mean removing of him? Why, by making him incapable of Othello's place, knocking out his brains. And that you would have me do? I, if you would dare do yourself a profit and a right, he subs tonight with a harlotry, 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 him at your pleasure. I will be nearer to second your attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will show you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now nigh's supper time, and the night grows to waste about it. I will hear further reason for this. And you shall be satisfied. Exiant. Scene three, Cyprus, another room in the castle. Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and attendance. I do beseech you, sir. Trouble yourself no further. Oh, pardon me, Troll, do me good to walk. Madam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship. Your honour is most welcome. Will you walk, sir? Oh, Desdemona. My lord. Get you to bed on the instant. I will be returned forthwith. Dismiss your attendance there. Look at be done. I will, my lord. Exiant Othello, Lodovico, and attendance. How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did. He says he will return incontinent. He hath commanded me to go to bed, and bade me to dismiss you. Dismiss me? It was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia, give me my nightly wearing, and adieu. We must not now displease him. I would you had never seen him. So would not I. My love doth so approve him, that even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns, prithee unpin me, have grace and favour in them. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds. If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me in one of those same sheets. Come, come, you talk. My mother had a maid called Barbara. She was in love, and he she loved, proved mad, and did forsake her. She had a song of willow, an old thing it was, but it expressed her fortune, and she died singing it. That song tonight will not go from my mind. I have much to do, but to go hang my head all at one side, and sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dispatch. Shall I go fetch her nightgown? No, unpin me here. This lot of eco is a proper man. A very handsome man. He speaks well. I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his netherlip. Sing's. The poor soul said sighing by a sycamore tree, sing all the green willow. Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, sing willow, willow, willow. The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her moans, sing willow, willow, willow. Her salt tears fell from her and softened the stones. Lay by these. Sing's. Sing willow, willow, willow. Prithee, hide thee, he'll come on on. Sing's. Sing all the green willow must be my garland, let nobody blame him his scorn I approve. Nay, that's not next. Hark! Who is it that knocks? It's the wind. Sing's. I called my love false love, but what said he then? Sing willow, willow, willow. If I court more women, you'll couch with more men. So get thee gone. Good night. Man eyes do itch. Doth that boat weeping? Tis neither here nor there. I have heard it said so. O these men, these men. Dost thou in conscience think, tell me, Amelia, that there be women do abuse their husbands in such gross kind? There be some such, no question. Wouldst thou do such deed for all the world? Why, would not you? No, by this heavenly light. Nor I, neither by this heavenly light. I might do it as well in the dark. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? The world's a huge thing. It is a great price for a small vice. In truth I think thou wouldst not. In truth I think I should, and undo it when I had done. Mary, 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 the whole world. Why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for it. Be true me if I would do such a wrong for the whole world. Why, then, wrong is but a wrong of the world, and having the world for your labour it is a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right. I do not think there is any such woman. Yes, a dozen, and as many to the vantage as would store the world they played for. But I do think it is their husband's 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 upon us, or say they strike us, or scant our former having and despite. Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace, yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know their wives have scents like them. They see and smell and have their palates both for sweet and sour 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 it frailty that thus urrs? 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 so. Good night, good night. Heaven me such usage send, not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend. Here, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come. Wear thy good rapier, bear, and put it home. Quick, quick, fear nothing. I'll be at thy elbow. It makes us, or it marrs us, think on that, and fix most firm thy resolution. Be near hand, I may miscarry in it. Here at thy hand. Be bold and take thy stand. Retires to a little distance. I have no great devotion to the need, and yet he hath given me satisfying reasons. Tis but a bad god. Forth my sword, he dies. Goes to his stand. I have rubbed this young quat almost to the sense, and he grows angry. Now whether he kill Cassio, or Cassio him, or each do kill the other every way makes my gain. Live Rodrigo, he calls me to a restitution large of gold and jewels that I bobbed from him, as gifts to Desdemona. It must not be. If Cassio do remain, he hath a daily beauty in his life that makes me ugly. And besides, the more may unfold me to him. There stand I in much peril. No, he must die. But so I hear him coming. Enter Cassio. I know his gate. Tis he. Villain, thou dyest. Rushes out and makes a pass at Cassio. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, but that my coat is better than thou knowest. I will make proof of thine. Draws and wounds, Rodrigo. Oh, I am slain. Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg and exit. I am maimed for ever. Help, ho. Murder, murder. Falls. Enter Othello at a distance. The voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word. O villain that I am. It is even so. O help, ho. Light, a surgeon. Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just, that hast such noble sense of thy friends wrong. Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead, and your unblessed fate highs. Strumpt it, I come. Fourth of my heart to those charms thine eyes are blotted. Thy bed, lust stained, shall with lust's blood be spotted. Exit. Enter Lotovico and Grasciano at a distance. What, ho? No watch? No passage? Murder! Murder! Tis, some mischance. The cry is very direful. O help! Hark! O wretched villain. Two or three grown. It is a heavy night. These may be counterfeits. Let's think it unsafe to come into the cry without more help. Nobody come? Then shall I bleed to death? Hark! Re-enter Iago with a light. Here comes one in his shirt with light and weapons. Who's there? What noise is this that cries on murder? We do not know. Did you not hear a cry? Here, here, for heaven's sake, help me. What's the matter? This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. The same indeed. A very valiant fellow. What are you here that cry so grievously? Iago? Oh, I am spoiled. Undone by villains. Give me some help. O me, Lieutenant. What villains have done this? I think that one of them is here about and cannot make a way. O treacherous villains. Chulotovico and Grasiano. What are you there? Come in and give some help. O help me here. That's one of them. O murderous slave. O villain. Stabs, Roderigo. O damn, Iago. O inhuman dog. Kill men in the dark. Where be these bloody thieves? How silent is this town. Oh, murder, murder. What may you be? Are you of good or evil? As you shall prove us, praise us. Say, Nulotovico. He, sir. I cry you mercy. Here's Casio, hurt by villains. Casio. How is, brother? My leg is cut in two. Mary, heaven forbid. Light, gentlemen. I'll bind it with my shirt. Enter Bianca. What is the matter? Who is the cry? Who is the cry? O my dear Casio, my sweet Casio. O Casio, Casio, Casio. O notable strumpet. Casio, may you suspect who they should be that have thus mangled you? No. I am sorry to find you thus. I have been to seek you. Let me a garter. So, offer a chair to bury him easily hence. Alas, he feigns. O Casio, Casio, Casio. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash to be a party in this injury. Patience a while, good Casio. Come, come, let me light. No, we this face or no. Alas, my friend and my dear countryman, Roderigo. No. Yes, sure. O heaven, Roderigo. What? A venice? Even he, sir. Did you know him? Know him? I. Señor Gratiano. I cry your gentle pardon. These bloody accidents must excuse my manners that so neglected you. I am glad to see you. How do you do, Casio? O a chair, a chair. Roderigo. He, he, tis he. A chair brought in. O that's well said, the chair. Some good man bear him carefully from hence. I'll fetch the general surgeon. To Bianca. For you, mistress, save your labour. He that lies slain here, Casio, was my dear friend. What malice was between you? None in the world, nor do I know the man. To Bianca. What? Look you pale? O, bear him out of the air. Casio and Roderigo are born off. Stay, you good gentleman. Look you pale, mistress. Do you perceive the ghastness of her eye? Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. Behold her well. I pray you look upon her. Do you see, gentlemen? Nay, guilty-ness will speak. Though tongues were out of use. Enter Emilia. Lass, what's the matter? What's the matter, husband? Casio hath here been set on in the dark by Roderigo, and fellows that have escaped. He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. Alas, good gentleman. Alas, good Casio. This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia. Go know of Casio where he's up tonight. What, do you shake at that? He's up at my house, but I therefore shake not. Oh, did he so? I charge you, go with me. Fire, fire upon thee, strumpet. I am no strumpet, but of life as honest as you that thus abuse me. As I? Fire upon thee. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Casio dressed. Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale. Emilia, run you to the citadel, and tell my lord and lady what hath happened. Will you go on a fore? Aside. This is the night that either makes me or foredoes me, quite. Exiant. Scene two, Cyprus, a bed-chamber in the castle. Desdemona in bed asleep, a light burning. Enter Othello. 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. If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, should I repent me. But once put out thy light, thou cunningst pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat that can thy light reloom. When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again. It must needs wither. I'll smell it on the tree. Kissing her. Oh, balmy breath, that dust 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 Nair so fatal. I must weep, but they are cruel tears. This sorrows heavenly, it strikes where it doth love. She wakes. Who's there, Othello? I, Desdemona. Will you come to bed, my lord? Have you prayed to night, Desdemona? I, my lord. If you bethink yourself of any crime unreconsiled as yet to heaven and grace, solicit for it straight. Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that? Well, do it, and be brief. I will walk by. I would not kill thy unprepared spirit. No, heaven forfeit. I would not kill thy soul. Talk you of killing? I, I do. Then heaven have mercy on me. Amen with all my heart. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. And yet I fear you, for you are fatal then when your eyes roll so. Why, I should fear I know not, since guiltiness I know not. But yet I feel I fear. Think on thy sins. They are loves I bear to you. I, and for that thou dyest. The deaths are natural that kills for loving. Alas, why ignore 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. Peace, and be still. I will so. What's the matter? That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee, Thou gave us to Cassio. No, by my life and soul. Send for the man and ask him. Sweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury. Thou art on thy deathbed. I, but not yet to die. Yes, presently. Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin, for to deny each article with oath cannot remove nor choke the strong conception that I do groan with all. Thou art to die. Then, Lord, have mercy on me. I say, amen. And have you mercy too. I never did offend you in my life, never loved Cassio, but with such general warranty of heaven as I might love. I never gave him token. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. O perjured woman, thou dost stone my heart, and makest me call what I intend to do a murder which I thought a sacrifice. I saw the handkerchief. He found it then. I never gave it him. Send for him hither. Let him confess the truth. He hath confessed. What, my Lord? That he hath used thee. How? Unlawfully? Aye. He will not say so. No. His mouth is stopped. Honest Yago has taken order for it. O my fear interprets. What, is he dead? Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge had stomach for them all. Alas, he is betrayed, and I undone. O trumpet, weepest thou for him to my face? O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not. Down, trumpet. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. Nay, if you strive. But half an hour. Being done, there is no pause. But while I say one prayer. It is too late. Smothers her. Within. My Lord! My Lord! What ho! My Lord! My Lord! What noise is this? Not dead. Not yet quite dead. Aye, that I'm cruel, I'm yet merciful. I would not have thee linger in thy pain. So, so. Within. What ho! My Lord! My Lord! Who's there? Within. How good my Lord! I would speak a word with you. Yes, Tiz Amelia. Bye and bye. She's dead. Tiz, 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? Weren't good? I think she stirs again. No. What's best to do? 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. He thinks it should now be a huge eclipse of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe should yawn at alteration. Within. I do beseech you that I may speak with you. Oh, good my Lord! I had forgotten. Oh, come in, Amelia. Soft, by and by. Let me the curtains draw. Where art thou? Unlocks the door. Enter, Amelia. What's the matter with thee now? Oh, my good Lord, yonder's foul murders done. What now? But now, my Lord! It is the very error of the moon. She comes more nearer earth than she was won't, and makes men mad. Cassio, my Lord, hath killed a young Venetian called Roderigo. Roderigo killed, and Cassio killed. No, Cassio was not killed. Not Cassio killed? Then murders out of tune, and sweet revenge grows harsh. Oh, falsely, falsely murdered. Alas, what cry is that? That what? Out and alas, that was my lady's voice. Help! Help, oh, help! Oh, lady, speak again! Sweet Desdemona, sweet Mistress, speak! A guiltless death I die. Oh, who hath done this deed? Nobody. I myself. Farewell. Commend me to my kind, Lord. Oh, farewell. Dyes. Why, how should she be murdered? Alas, who knows? You heard her say herself it was not I. She said so. I must needs report the truth. She's like a liar gone to burning hell, twas I that killed her. Oh, the more angels she and you the blacker devil. She turned to folly, and she was a whore. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. She was false as water. Thou art as rash as fire to say that she was false. Oh, she was heavenly true. Cassio did top her. Ask thy husband else. Oh, I were damned beneath all depth and hell, but that I did proceed upon just grounds to this extremity. Thy husband knew it all. My husband. Thy husband. That she was false to wedlock. I, with Cassio, they had she been true if heaven would make me such another world of one entire and perfect chrysalite, I'd not have sold her for it. My husband. I, twas he that told me first, an honest man he is and hates the slime that sticks on filthy deeds. My husband. What needs this itterance, woman? I say thy husband. Oh, mistress. Villani hath made mocks with love. My husband say that she was false. He, woman, I say thy husband. Dost understand the word? My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. If he say so, may his pernicious soul rot half a grain a day. He lies to the heart. She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. Huh? Do thy worst. This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven than thou was worthy her. Peace, you are best. 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 hast done a deed. I care not for thy sword. I'll make thee known though I lost twenty lives. Help, help, oh, help. The Moor has killed my mistress. Murder, murder. Enter Montano, Grasciano, and Iago. What's the matter? How now, general? Oh, are you come, Iago? You have done well that men must lay their murders on your neck. What is the matter? Disprove this villain if thou beest a man. He says thou toldst him that his wife was false. I know thou didst not, thou art not such a villain. Speak, for my heart is full. I told him what I thought, and told no more than what he found himself was apt and true. But did you ever tell him she was false? I did. 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? With Cassio, mistress. Go to charm your tongue. I will not charm my tongue. I am bound to speak. My mistress here lies murdered in her bed, and your reports have set the murder on. Knee, stare not, masters. It is true indeed. Here's a strange truth. Oh, monstrous act. Villainy, villainy, villainy. I think upon, I think I smell it. Oh, villainy, I thought so then. I'll kill myself for grief. Oh, villainy, villainy. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak. Tis proper I obey him, but not now. Perchance, I'll go. I will nare go home. Hanging over his wife. Knee, lay thee down and roar, for thou hast killed the sweetest innocent that air did lift up I. Rising. Oh, she was foul. I scarce did know, you uncle, there lies your niece, whose breath indeed these hands have newly stopped. I know this act shows horrible and grim. Poor Desdemona. I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief sure his old thread entwain. Did he live now? This sight would make him do a desperate turn. Yea, curse his better angel from his side, and fall to reprobance. Tis pitiful, but yet Yago knows that she with Cassio hath the act of shame a thousand times committed. Cassio confessed 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 a handkerchief, an antique token my father gave my mother. Oh heaven, oh heavenly powers. Come, hold your peace. Twill out, twill out. I, peace? No. I will speak as liberal as the north. Let heaven and men and devils let them all, all, all cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. Be wise and get you home. I will not. Yago offers to stab his wife. Thy, your sword upon a woman. Oh, thou dull moor. That handkerchief thou speakst of, I found by fortune and did give my husband. For often with a solemn earnestness more than indeed belonged to such a trifle, he begged of me to steal it. She give it, Cassio. No, alas, I found it and I did give it to my husband. By heaven I do not. I do not, gentlemen. Oh murderous coxcomb. What should such a fool do with so good a wife? Are there no stones in heaven, but what serve for the thunder? Precious villain. Yago stabs Emilia and then runs out. The woman falls. Sure, he has killed his wife. I, I. Oh, lay me by my mistress' side. He's gone, but his wife's killed. Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon which I have here recovered 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. Exit Montano and Grasciano. I am not valiant neither, but every puny whipster gets my sword. But why should honor outlive honesty? Let it go all. What did thy song bode, lady? Huck, can't thou hear me? I will play the swan, and die in music. Willow, willow, willow. Moor, she was chaste. She loved thee cruel Moor. So come my soul to bliss as I speak true. So speaking as I think, I die. I die. Dies. I have another weapon in this chamber. It is a sword of Spain, the Icebrook's temper. Oh, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. Within. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear. Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Look in upon me, then, and speak with me, or naked as I am, I will assault thee. Re-enter, Grasciano. What is the matter? Behold, I have a weapon. A better never did it self-sustain upon a soldier's thigh. I have seen the day that with this little arm and this good sword I have made my way through more impediments than twenty times your stop. But—oh, vain post! Who can control his fate? It is not so now. Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed. Here is my journey's end. Here is my but, and very sea-mark of my utmost sale. The yuggle-back dismayed is a lost fear. Man but a rush against a fellow's breast, and he retires. Where should a fellow go? Now how dost thou look now? O ill-starred 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, even like thy chastity. O cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils, from the possession of this heavenly sight. Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulfur, wash me in steeped-down gulfs of liquid fire. O Desdemon, dead, Desdemon, dead! Enter Ludovico, Montano. Casio carried in a chair, and officers with Iago prisoner. Where is this Russian most unfortunate man? That's he that was a fellow. Here I am. Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth. I look down towards his feet, but that's a feeble. If that thou beest a devil, I cannot kill thee. Wounds, Iago. Wrench his sword from him. I bleed, sir, but not killed. I am not sorry, neither. I'd have thee live, for in my sense, tis happiness to die. O thou, O tellu, that word one so good, fallen in the practice of a damned slave. What shall be said to thee? Why, anything, an honourable murderer, if you will, for not I did in hate, but all in honour. This wretch hath part confessed his villainy. Did you and he consent in Casio's death? Dear General, I never gave you cause. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil? Why, he hath thus ensnared my soul and body. Demand me nothing. What you know, you know. From this time forth I never will speak word. What not to pray? Torments will up your lips. Well, thou dost best. Sir, you shall understand what hath befallen, which, as I think you know not, here is a letter found in the pocket of the slain Rodrigo, and here another, the one of them import the death of Casio to be undertook by Rodrigo. Most heathenish and most gross! Now here's another discontented paper found in his pocket too, and this it seems Rodrigo meant to have sent this damned villain, but that, be like, Java in the interim came in and satisfied him. Oh, the pernicious Catef! How came you, Casio, by that handkerchief that was my wife's? I found it in my chamber, and he himself confessed, but even now, that there he dropped it for a special purpose, which wrought to his desire. Oh, fool, fool, fool! There is, besides in Rodrigo's letter, how he upbraids Iago, that he made him brave me upon the watch, whereon it came that I was cast. And even but now, he spake, after long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, Iago set him on. You must forsake this room and go with us. Your power and your command is taken off, and Casio 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 prison arrest till that the nature of your fault be known to the Venetian state. Come, bring away! 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 ought in malice. Then must you speak of one that loved not wisely but too well, of one not easily jealous but being wrought perplexed 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, dropped 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 turbaned Turk beat a Venetian and produced the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog and smote him. Thus stabs himself. Oh bloody period, all that spoke is marred. I kissed thee ere I killed thee, no way but this, killing myself to die upon a kiss. Falling upon Desdemona. This did I fear, but I thought he had no weapon, for he was great of heart. To Iago. Oh Spartan dog, more fell than anguish hunger or the sea. Look on the tragic loading of this bed. This is thy work, the object poison sight. Let it be hid, Graziano keep the house, and seize upon the fortunes of the more, for they succeed on you. To you, Lord Governor, remains the censer of this hellish villain. The time, the place, the torture. Oh, enforce it. Myself will straight abhorred and to the state this heavy act with heavy heart relate. Exiant. End of Act Five. End of Othello by William Shakespeare.