Speeches (Lines) for Desdemona in "The Tragedy of Othello; or, The Moor of Venice"

Brabantio. I pray you, hear her speak:
If she confess that she was half the wooer,
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress:
Do you perceive in all this noble company
Where most you owe obedience?

Desdemona. My noble father,
I do perceive here a divided duty:
To you I am bound for life and education;
My life and education both do learn me
How to respect you; you are the lord of duty;
I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband,
And so much duty as my mother show'd
To you, preferring you before her father,
So much I challenge that I may profess
Due to the Moor my lord.

Othello. Nor I.

Desdemona. Nor I; I would not there reside,
To put my father in impatient thoughts
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear;
And let me find a charter in your voice,
To assist my simpleness.

Duke of Venice. What would You, Desdemona?

Desdemona. That I did love the Moor to live with him,
My downright violence and storm of fortunes
May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued
Even to the very quality of my lord:
I saw Othello's visage in his mind,
And to his honour and his valiant parts
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,
A moth of peace, and he go to the war,
The rites for which I love him are bereft me,
And I a heavy interim shall support
By his dear absence. Let me go with him.

Cassio. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain,
Left in the conduct of the bold Iago,
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits
And bring all Cyprus comfort!
[Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants]
O, behold,
The riches of the ship is come on shore!
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
Enwheel thee round!

Desdemona. I thank you, valiant Cassio.
What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

Cassio. He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught
But that he's well and will be shortly here.

Desdemona. O, but I fear--How lost you company?

Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You'll have enough.

Desdemona. Alas, she has no speech.

Iago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,
Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens,
Saints m your injuries, devils being offended,
Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds.

Desdemona. O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

Iago. No, let me not.

Desdemona. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst
praise me?

Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
For I am nothing, if not critical.

Desdemona. Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour?

Iago. Ay, madam.

Desdemona. I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

Iago. I am about it; but indeed my invention
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize;
It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,
And thus she is deliver'd.
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,
The one's for use, the other useth it.

Desdemona. Well praised! How if she be black and witty?

Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

Desdemona. Worse and worse.

Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair;
For even her folly help'd her to an heir.

Desdemona. These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i'
the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for
her that's foul and foolish?

Iago. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto,
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

Desdemona. O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best.
But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving
woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her
merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?

Iago. She that was ever fair and never proud,
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,
Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay,
Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,'
She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly,
She that in wisdom never was so frail
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;
She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind,
See suitors following and not look behind,
She was a wight, if ever such wight were,--

Desdemona. To do what?

Iago. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

Desdemona. O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn
of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say
you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal
counsellor?

Cassio. 'Tis truly so.

Desdemona. Let's meet him and receive him.

Othello. O my fair warrior!

Desdemona. My dear Othello!

Othello. It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

Desdemona. The heavens forbid
But that our loves and comforts should increase,
Even as our days do grow!

Othello. I know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee
But never more be officer of mine.
[Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended]
Look, if my gentle love be not raised up!
I'll make thee an example.

Desdemona. What's the matter?

Gentleman. We'll wait upon your lordship.

Desdemona. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do
All my abilities in thy behalf.

Emilia. Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband,
As if the case were his.

Desdemona. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,
But I will have my lord and you again
As friendly as you were.

Cassio. Bounteous madam,
Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
He's never any thing but your true servant.

Desdemona. I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord:
You have known him long; and be you well assured
He shall in strangeness stand no further off
Than in a polite distance.

Cassio. Ay, 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 and my place supplied,
My general will forget my love and service.

Desdemona. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here
I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee,
If I do vow 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 every thing he does
With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio;
For thy solicitor shall rather die
Than give thy cause away.

Cassio. Madam, I'll take my leave.

Desdemona. Why, stay, and hear me speak.

Cassio. Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease,
Unfit for mine own purposes.

Desdemona. Well, do your discretion.

Othello. I do believe 'twas he.

Desdemona. How now, my lord!
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man that languishes in your displeasure.

Othello. Who is't you mean?

Desdemona. 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 prithee, call him back.

Othello. Went he hence now?

Desdemona. Ay, sooth; so humbled
That he hath left part of his grief with me,
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.

Othello. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.

Desdemona. But shall't be shortly?

Othello. The sooner, sweet, for you.

Desdemona. Shall't be to-night at supper?

Othello. No, not to-night.

Desdemona. To-morrow dinner, then?

Othello. I shall not dine at home;
I meet the captains at the citadel.

Desdemona. Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn;
On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn:
I prithee, name the time, but let it not
Exceed three days: in faith, he's 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 cheque. When shall he come?
Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,
What you would ask me, that I should deny,
Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio,
That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,
Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do
To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,--

Othello. Prithee, no more: let him come when he will;
I will deny thee nothing.

Desdemona. Why, this is not a boon;
'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,
Or sue to 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.

Othello. I will deny thee nothing:
Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,
To leave me but a little to myself.

Desdemona. Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord.

Othello. Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight.

Desdemona. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you;
Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

Othello. 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 heartstrings,
I'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind,
To pray at fortune. Haply, for I am black
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have, or for I am declined
Into the vale 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 had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones;
Prerogatived are they less than the base;
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:
Even then this forked plague is fated to us
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:
[Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA]
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!
I'll not believe't.

Desdemona. How now, my dear Othello!
Your dinner, and the generous islanders
By you invited, do attend your presence.

Othello. I am to blame.

Desdemona. Why do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well?

Othello. I have a pain upon my forehead here.

Desdemona. 'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

Othello. Your napkin is too little:
[He puts the handkerchief from him; and it drops]
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

Desdemona. I am very sorry that you are not well.

Iago. I am your own for ever.

Desdemona. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?

Clown. I dare not say he lies any where.

Desdemona. Why, man?

Clown. He's a soldier, and for one to say a soldier lies,
is stabbing.

Desdemona. Go to: where lodges he?

Clown. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie.

Desdemona. Can any thing be made of this?

Clown. I know not where he lodges, and for me to devise a
lodging and say he lies here or he lies there, were
to lie in mine own throat.

Desdemona. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report?

Clown. I will catechise the world for him; that is, make
questions, and by them answer.

Desdemona. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him I have
moved my lord on his behalf, and hope all will be well.

Clown. To do this is within the compass of man's wit: and
therefore I will attempt the doing it.

Desdemona. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?

Emilia. I know not, madam.

Desdemona. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse
Full of crusadoes: 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.

Emilia. Is he not jealous?

Desdemona. Who, he? I think the sun where he was born
Drew all such humours from him.

Emilia. Look, where he comes.

Desdemona. I will not leave him now till Cassio
Be call'd to him.
[Enter OTHELLO]
How is't with you, my lord

Othello. Well, my good lady.
[Aside]
O, hardness to dissemble!--
How do you, Desdemona?

Desdemona. Well, my good lord.

Othello. Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my lady.

Desdemona. It yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.

Othello. 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. 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.

Desdemona. You may, indeed, say so;
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

Othello. A liberal hand: the hearts of old gave hands;
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

Desdemona. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.

Othello. What promise, chuck?

Desdemona. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.

Othello. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me;
Lend me thy handkerchief.

Desdemona. Here, my lord.

Othello. That which I gave you.

Desdemona. I have it not about me.

Othello. Not?

Desdemona. No, indeed, my lord.

Othello. That is a 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,
'Twould 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 wive,
To give it her. I did so: and take heed on't;
Make it a darling like your precious eye;
To lose't or give't away were such perdition
As nothing else could match.

Desdemona. Is't possible?

Othello. 'Tis true: there's magic in the web of it:
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The sun to course two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work;
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk;
And it was dyed in mummy which the skilful
Conserved of maidens' hearts.

Desdemona. Indeed! is't true?

Othello. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.

Desdemona. Then would to God that I had never seen't!

Othello. Ha! wherefore?

Desdemona. Why do you speak so startingly and rash?

Othello. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out
o' the way?

Desdemona. Heaven bless us!

Othello. Say you?

Desdemona. It is not lost; but what an if it were?

Othello. How!

Desdemona. I say, it is not lost.

Othello. Fetch't, let me see't.

Desdemona. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
This is a trick to put me from my suit:
Pray you, let Cassio be received again.

Othello. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind misgives.

Desdemona. Come, come;
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.

Othello. The handkerchief!

Desdemona. I pray, talk me of Cassio.

Othello. The handkerchief!

Desdemona. A man that all his time
Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
Shared dangers with you,--

Othello. The handkerchief!

Desdemona. In sooth, you are to blame.

Emilia. Is not this man jealous?

Desdemona. I ne'er saw this before.
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Iago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do't:
And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her.

Desdemona. How now, good Cassio! what's the news with you?

Cassio. 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 honour: I would not be delay'd.
If my offence be of such mortal kind
That nor 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.

Desdemona. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio!
My advocation is not now in tune;
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,
Were he in favour as in humour alter'd.
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 awhile be patient:
What I can do I will; and more I will
Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you.

Iago. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon,
When it hath blown his ranks into the air,
And, like the devil, from his very arm
Puff'd his own brother:--and can he be angry?
Something of moment then: I will go meet him:
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry.

Desdemona. I prithee, do so.
[Exit IAGO]
Something, sure, of state,
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practise
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 indues
Our other healthful members even to that sense
Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods,
Nor of them look for such observances
As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
But now I find I had suborn'd the witness,
And he's indicted falsely.

Emilia. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you think,
And no conception nor no jealous toy
Concerning you.

Desdemona. Alas the day! I never gave him cause.

Emilia. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Desdemona. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind!

Emilia. Lady, amen.

Desdemona. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit
And seek to effect it to my uttermost.

Othello. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.

Desdemona. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?

Iago. Lives, sir.

Desdemona. Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my lord
An unkind breach: but you shall make all well.

Othello. Are you sure of that?

Desdemona. My lord?

Lodovico. He did not call; he's busy in the paper.
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio?

Desdemona. A most unhappy one: I would do much
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.

Othello. Fire and brimstone!

Desdemona. My lord?

Othello. Are you wise?

Desdemona. What, is he angry?

Lodovico. May be the letter moved him;
For, as I think, they do command him home,
Deputing Cassio in his government.

Desdemona. Trust me, I am glad on't.

Othello. Indeed!

Desdemona. My lord?

Othello. I am glad to see you mad.

Desdemona. Why, sweet Othello,--

Othello. [Striking her] Devil!

Desdemona. I have not deserved this.

Othello. O devil, devil!
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Out of my sight!

Desdemona. I will not stay to offend you.

Othello. Mistress!

Desdemona. My lord?

Othello. Bid her come hither: go.
[Exit EMILIA]
She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
A closet lock and key of villanous secrets
And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen her do't.

Desdemona. My lord, what is your will?

Othello. Pray, chuck, come hither.

Desdemona. What is your pleasure?

Othello. Let me see your eyes;
Look in my face.

Desdemona. What horrible fancy's this?

Othello. [To EMILIA] Some of your function, mistress;
Leave procreants alone and shut the door;
Cough, or cry 'hem,' if any body come:
Your mystery, your mystery: nay, dispatch.

Desdemona. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?
I understand a fury in your words.
But not the words.

Othello. Why, what art thou?

Desdemona. Your wife, my lord; your true
And loyal wife.

Othello. 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.

Desdemona. Heaven doth truly know it.

Othello. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

Desdemona. To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false?

Othello. O Desdemona! away! away! away!

Desdemona. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?
If haply you my father do suspect
An instrument of this your calling back,
Lay not your blame on me: If you have lost him,
Why, I have lost him too.

Othello. Had it pleased heaven
To try me with affliction; had they 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 place of my soul
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me
A fixed figure for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at!
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there,
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin,--
Ay, there, look grim as hell!

Desdemona. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

Othello. 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
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst
ne'er been born!

Desdemona. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

Othello. 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 bawdy wind that kisses all it meets
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear it. What committed!
Impudent strumpet!

Desdemona. By heaven, you do me wrong.

Othello. Are you not a strumpet?

Desdemona. No, as I am a Christian:
If to preserve this vessel for my lord
From any other foul unlawful touch
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

Othello. What, not a whore?

Desdemona. No, as I shall be saved.

Othello. Is't possible?

Desdemona. O, heaven forgive us!

Emilia. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?

Desdemona. 'Faith, half asleep.

Emilia. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

Desdemona. With who?

Emilia. Why, with my lord, madam.

Desdemona. Who is thy lord?

Emilia. He that is yours, sweet lady.

Desdemona. 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.

Emilia. Here's a change indeed!

Desdemona. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet.
How have I been behaved, that he might stick
The small'st opinion on my least misuse?

Iago. What is your pleasure, madam?
How is't with you?

Desdemona. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks:
He might have chid me so; for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.

Emilia. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her.
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
As true hearts cannot bear.

Desdemona. Am I that name, Iago?

Iago. What name, fair lady?

Desdemona. Such as she says my lord did say I was.

Iago. Why did he so?

Desdemona. I do not know; I am sure I am none such.

Emilia. Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father and her country and her friends,
To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep?

Desdemona. It is my wretched fortune.

Iago. Beshrew him for't!
How comes this trick upon him?

Desdemona. Nay, heaven doth know.

Iago. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.

Desdemona. If any such there be, heaven pardon him!

Iago. You are a fool; go to.

Desdemona. O good 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 e'er my will did trespass 'gainst 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 forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I cannot say 'whore:'
It does abhor 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.

Iago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour:
The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.

Desdemona. If 'twere no other--

Lodovico. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.

Desdemona. Your honour is most welcome.

Othello. Will you walk, sir?
O,--Desdemona,--

Desdemona. My lord?

Othello. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned
forthwith: dismiss your attendant there: look it be done.

Desdemona. I will, my lord.

Emilia. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

Desdemona. He says he will return incontinent:
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.

Emilia. Dismiss me!

Desdemona. It was his bidding: therefore, good Emilia,.
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:
We must not now displease him.

Emilia. I would you had never seen him!

Desdemona. So would not I. my love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his cheques, his frowns--
Prithee, unpin me,--have grace and favour in them.

Emilia. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

Desdemona. 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.

Emilia. Come, come you talk.

Desdemona. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:
She was in love, and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her: she had a song of 'willow;'
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: that song to-night
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.

Emilia. Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

Desdemona. No, unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emilia. A very handsome man.

Desdemona. He speaks well.

Emilia. I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot
to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

Desdemona. [Singing] The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow:
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;
Lay by these:--
[Singing]
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--
[Singing]
Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,-
Nay, that's not next.--Hark! who is't that knocks?

Emilia. It's the wind.

Desdemona. [Singing] I call'd my love false love; but what
said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow:
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men!
So, get thee gone; good night Ate eyes do itch;
Doth that bode weeping?

Emilia. 'Tis neither here nor there.

Desdemona. I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think,--tell me, Emilia,--
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?

Emilia. There be some such, no question.

Desdemona. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emilia. Why, would not you?

Desdemona. No, by this heavenly light!

Emilia. Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
I might do't as well i' the dark.

Desdemona. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emilia. The world's a huge thing: it is a great price.
For a small vice.

Desdemona. In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

Emilia. In troth, I think I should; and undo't when I had
done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a
joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for
gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty
exhibition; but for the whole world,--why, who would
not make her husband a cuckold to make him a
monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

Desdemona. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong
For the whole world.

Emilia. Why the wrong is but a wrong i' the world: and
having the world for your labour, tis a wrong in your
own world, and you might quickly make it right.

Desdemona. I do not think there is any such woman.

Emilia. Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would
store the world they played for.
But I do think it is their husbands' faults
If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
Throwing restraint upon us; or say they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despite;
Why, we have galls, and though we have some grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense 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't frailty that thus errs?
It is so too: and have not we affections,
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?
Then let them use us well: else let them know,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

Desdemona. Good night, good night: heaven me such uses send,
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!

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.
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 cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd the rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again.
It must needs wither: I'll smell it on the tree.
[Kissing her]
Ah 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. She wakes.

Desdemona. Who's there? Othello?

Othello. Ay. Desdemona.

Desdemona. Will you come to bed, my lord?

Othello. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona?

Desdemona. Ay, my lord.

Othello. If you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.

Desdemona. Alas, my lord, what do you mean by that?

Othello. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
No; heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.

Desdemona. Talk you of killing?

Othello. Ay, I do.

Desdemona. Then heaven
Have mercy on me!

Othello. Amen, with all my heart!

Desdemona. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.

Othello. Hum!

Desdemona. 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.

Othello. Think on thy sins.

Desdemona. They are loves I bear to you.

Othello. Ay, and for that thou diest.

Desdemona. That death's unnatural that kills for loving.
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame:
These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me.

Othello. Peace, and be still!

Desdemona. I will so. What's the matter?

Othello. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
Thou gavest to Cassio.

Desdemona. No, by my life and soul!
Send for the man, and ask him.

Othello. Sweet soul, take heed,
Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy deathbed.

Desdemona. Ay, but not yet to die.

Othello. 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 withal. Thou art to die.

Desdemona. Then Lord have mercy on me!

Othello. I say, amen.

Desdemona. 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.

Othello. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in's 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.

Desdemona. He found it then;
I never gave it him: send for him hither;
Let him confess a truth.

Othello. He hath confess'd.

Desdemona. What, my lord?

Othello. That he hath used thee.

Desdemona. How? unlawfully?

Othello. Ay.

Desdemona. He will not say so.

Othello. No, his mouth is stopp'd;
Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't.

Desdemona. O! my fear interprets: what, is he dead?

Othello. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
Had stomach for them all.

Desdemona. Alas! he is betray'd and I undone.

Othello. Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him to my face?

Desdemona. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!

Othello. Down, strumpet!

Desdemona. Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night!

Othello. Nay, if you strive--

Desdemona. But half an hour!

Othello. Being done, there is no pause.

Desdemona. But while I say one prayer!

Othello. Not Cassio kill'd! then murder's out of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Desdemona. O, falsely, falsely murder'd!

Emilia. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.
Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again!
Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!

Desdemona. A guiltless death I die.

Emilia. O, who hath done this deed?

Desdemona. Nobody; I myself. Farewell
Commend me to my kind lord: O, farewell!