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-

Des. Who's there? Othello?
Oth.

Ay, Desdemona.
Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ?
Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona?
Des.

Ay, my lord.
Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime,
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.

Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that?

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by :
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
No,-Heaven forefend* !- I would not kill thy soul.

Des. Talk you of killing?
Oth.

Ay, I do.
Des.

Then, heaven Have mercy on me ! Oth.

Amen, with all my heart ! Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. Oth. Humph !

Des. 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.

Oth. Think on thy sins. Des.

They are loves I bear to you. Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest.

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

Peace, and be still. Des. I will so: What's the matter? Oth. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and gave thee,

# Forbid.

Thou gav'st to Cassio.
Des.

No, by my life and soul;
Send for the man, and ask him.
Oth.

Sweet soul, take heed, Take heed of perjury; thou’rt on thy death-bed.

Des. Ay, but not yet to die.
Oth.

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.

Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me!
Oth.

I

say, amen.
Des. And have you mercy too !- I never did
Offend you in my life; never lov'd Cassio,
But with such general warranty of heaven
As I might love : I never gave him token.
Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his

hand.
O perjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart,
And mak'st me call, what I intend to do,-
A murder, which I thought a sacrifice* : -
I saw the handkerchief.
Des.

He found it then;
I never gave it him :- Send for him hither,
And let him confess a truth.
Oth.

He hath confess'd.
Des. What, my lord ?
Oth. That he hath-us'd thee.
Des.

How? unlawfully?
Oth. Ay.
Des.

He'll not say so. Oth.

No, his mouth is stopp'd ; Honest Iago hath ta'en order for'tt.

Des. My fear interprets then,--What, is he dead? Oth, Had all his hairs been lives, my great

Had stomach for them all.

Des. Alas! he is betray'd, and I undone.
Oth. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him to my

face?
Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not.
Oth. Down, strumpet !
Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.
Oth. Nay, if you strive,
Des.

But half an hour. Oth.

Being done, There is no pause. Des.

But while I say one prayer. Oth. It is too late.

[He smothers her. Emil. [Within.] My lord, my lord ! what ho ! my

lord ! my lord ! Oth. What noise is this?-Not dead? not yet

quite dead?
I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain.-
So, so*,

Emil. [Within.] What ho! my lord, my lord !
Oth.

Who's there? Emil. [Within.] 0, good my lord, I would speak

a word with you. Oth. Yes;—'tis Emilia :-by and by.--She's dead. 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death : The noise was high-Ha! no more moving ! Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good? I think, she stirs again :-No.-What's the best? If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : My wife ! my wife! what wife?-1 have no wife : 0, insupportable ! O heavy hour! Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration.

with you,

Emil. [Within.] I do beseech you I may speak O, good my lord !

Oth. I had forgot thee : 0, come in, Emilia :Soft,-by and by :

-Let me the curtains draw,Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?

[Unlocks the door.

Enter Emilia, Emil. O, good my lord, yonder's foul murder

done. Oth. What? now? Emil.

But now, my lord ! Oth. It is the very error of the moon; She comes more near the earth than she was wont, And makes men mad.

Emil. Cassio, my lord, has killed a young Venetian,
Call'd-Roderigo.
Oth.

Roderigo kill'd!
And Cassio kill'd ?
Emil.

No, Cassio is not kill'd.
Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then murder's out of

tune, And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd! Emil.

Alas! what cry is that? Oth. That! what?

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

Des. A guiltless death I die.
Emil.

0, who hath done This deed!

Des. Nobody; I myself; farewell : Commend me to my kind lord ; 0, farewell. [Dies.

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

Alas, who knows?
Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I.
Emil. She said so; I must needs report the truth.
Oth. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell;

'Twas I that kill'd her. Emil.

0, the more angel she,
And
you

the blacker devil!
Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.
Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.
Oth. She was false as water.
Emil.

Thou art rash as fire, to say That she was false ; 0, she was heavenly true !

Oth. Cassio did tup her; ask thy husband else.
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity; Thy husband knew it all.

Emil. My husband ?
Oth. Thy husband.
Emil. That she was false to wedlock ?
Oth.

Ay, with Cassior
Nay, had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite*,
I'd not have sold her for it.

Emil. My husband ?
Oth.

Ay, 'twas he that told me first;
An honest man he is, and bates the slime.
That sticks on filthy deeds.
Emil.

My husband ? Oth. What needs this iterancet, woman? I say,

thy husband. Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with

love !My husband say, that she was false ? Oth.

He, woman ; I say thy husband : Dost understand the word ? My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago.

Emil. 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.

Oth, Ha!

Emil. Do thy worst : This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, * A precious stone.

+ Repetition.