Imatges de pÓgina

That make ambition virtue! 0, 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, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!

Iago. Is it possible?-My lord,
Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my

love a whore; Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof;

[Taking him by the Throat. Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, Than answer my wak'd wrath. Iago.

Is it come to this? Oth. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so prove That the probation bear no binge, nor loop, [it, To hang a doubt on; or, woe upon thy life!

lago. My noble lord

Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Never pray more: abandon all remorse* ; On horror's head horrors accumulate: Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d, For nothing canst thou to damnation add, Greater than that. Iago.

O grace! O heaven defend me! Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense?God be wi' you; take mine office.-O wretched fool, That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice! O monstrous world! take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest, is not safe.I thank

for this profit, and, from hence, I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence.

* All tenderness, all pity.


Oth. Nay, stay:-Thou shouldst be honest.

Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool, And loses that it works for. Oth.

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 Dian'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!

OTHELLO'S STORY OF THE HANDKERCHIEF. Oth. 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 a gift of it, my father's

eye Should hold her loathly, 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 oft, Make it a darling like your precious eye; To lose or give't away, were such perdition, As nothing else could match. Des.

Is it possible? Oth. 'Tis true: there's magic in the web of it; A sibyl that had number'd in the world The sun to make two hundred compasses, In her prophetic fury sew'd the work: The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk;

* Enchantress.


And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.

A LOVER'S COMPUTATION OF TIME. What! keep a week away? seven days and nights ? Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours, More tedious than the dial eight score times? O weary reckoning!



What hath he said? Iago. 'Faith, that he did, I know not what he Oth. What, what?

[did. lago. Lie Oth.

With her?
Iago, With her, on her; what you

will. Oth. Lie with her! lie on her! -We say, lie on her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's ful

Handkerchief, - confessions, - 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!-0 devil!

[Falls in a Trance.



A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman!
Iago. Nay, you must forget that.
Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned

* A proverbial saying.


to-night; for she shall not live: No, my heart is turned to stone: I strike it, and it hurts hand. 0, the world hath not a sweeter creature: she might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.

Iago. Nay, that's not your way.

Oth. Hang her; I do but say what she is: So delicate with her needle!—an admirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of so high and plenteous wit and invention!—

Iago. She's the worse for all this.

Oth. O, a thousand, a thousand times:-And then, of so gentle a condition* !

Iago. Ay, too gentle.

Oth. Nay, that's certain : But yet the pity of it, lago!—0, Iago, the pity of it, Iago.

Oth. Mistress,

My lord ?

What would


with her, sir? Lod. Who, I, my lord?

[turn: Oth. Ay; you did wish, that I would make her 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,- well painted passion! I am commanded home;—Get you away; I'll send for you anon. -Sir, I obey the mandate, And will return to Venice;-Hence, avaunt!

[Exit DESDEMONA. Cassio shall have my place. And,-sir, to-night, I do entreat that we may sup together.

* Of so sweet a disposition.

You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.-Goats and monkeys!


HIS PATHETIC UPBRAIDING OF DESDEMONA. Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech imI understand a fury in your words,

[port? But not the words.

Oth. 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 Swear—thou art honest.

[damn'd, Des.

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

[false? Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? How am I Oth. O Desdemona! away! away! away!

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

Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction; had he rain'd All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head; Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips; Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; I should have found in some part of my soul A drop of patience: but (alas !) to make me A fixed figure, for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at, 0! O!

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