Othello - William Shakespeare (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗

Look here, Iago;
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
’Tis gone.
Arise, 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 aspics’ tongues! Iago Yet be content. Othello O, blood, blood, blood! Iago Patience, I say; your mind perhaps may change. Othello

Never, Iago: Like to the Pontic sea,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont,
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,
Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven,
Kneels. In the due reverence of a sacred vow
I here engage my words.

Iago

Do not rise yet.
Kneels. Witness, you ever-burning lights above,
You elements that clip us round about,
Witness that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command,
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
What bloody business ever. They rise.

Othello

I greet thy love,
Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,
And will upon the instant put thee to’t:
Within these three days let me hear thee say
That Cassio’s not alive.

Iago

My friend is dead; ’tis done at your request:
But let her live.

Othello

Damn her, lewd minx! O, 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.

Iago I am your own for ever. Exeunt. Scene IV

Before the castle.

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 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. Exit. 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. Othello Away! Exit. 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.

Emilia

’Tis not a year or two shows us