Chapter 6

Iago. What is your pleasure Madam? How is't with you? Des. I cannot tell: those that do teach yong Babes Do it with gentle meanes, and easie taskes. He might haue chid me so; for in good faith I am a Child to chiding

Iago. What is the matter Lady? Aemil. Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhor'd her, Throwne such dispight, and heauy termes vpon her That true hearts cannot beare it

Des. Am I that name, Iago? Iago. What name, (faire Lady?) Des. Such as she said my Lord did say I was. Aemil. He call'd her whore: a Begger in his drinke: Could not haue laid such termes vpon his Callet

Iago. Why did he so? Des. I do not know: I am sure I am none such

Iago. Do not weepe, do not weepe: alas the day. Aemil. Hath she forsooke so many Noble Matches? Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends? To be call'd Whore? Would it not make one weepe? Des. It is my wretched Fortune

Iago. Beshrew him for't: How comes this Tricke vpon him? Des. Nay, Heauen doth know

Aemi. I will be hang'd, if some eternall Villaine, Some busie and insinuating Rogue, Some cogging, cozening Slaue, to get some Office, Haue not deuis'd this Slander: I will be hang'd else

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

Des. If any such there be, Heauen pardon him. Aemil. A halter pardon him: And hell gnaw his bones. Why should he call her Whore? Who keepes her companie? What Place? What Time? What Forme? What liklyhood? The Moore's abus'd by some most villanous Knaue, Some base notorious Knaue, some scuruy Fellow. Oh Heauens, that such companions thou'd'st vnfold, And put in euery honest hand a whip To lash the Rascalls naked through the world, Euen from the East to th' West

Iago. Speake within doore. Aemil. Oh fie vpon them: some such Squire he was That turn'd your wit, the seamy-side without, And made you to suspect me with the Moore

Iago. You are a Foole: go too

Des. Alas Iago, What shall I do to win my Lord againe? Good Friend, go to him: for by this light of Heauen, I know not how I lost him. Heere I kneele: If ere my will did trespasse 'gainst his Loue, Either in discourse of thought, or actuall deed, Or that mine Eyes, mine Eares, or any Sence Delighted them: or any other Forme. Or that I do not yet, and euer did, And euer will, (though he do shake me off To beggerly diuorcement) Loue him deerely, Comfort forsweare me. Vnkindnesse may do much, And his vnkindnesse may defeat my life, But neuer taynt my Loue. I cannot say Whore, It do's abhorre me now I speake the word, To do the Act, that might the addition earne, Not the worlds Masse of vanitie could make me

Iago. I pray you be content: 'tis but his humour: The businesse of the State do's him offence

Des. If 'twere no other

Iago. It is but so, I warrant, Hearke how these Instruments summon to supper: The Messengers of Venice staies the meate, Go in, and weepe not: all things shall be well.

Exeunt. Desdemona and aemilia.

Enter Rodorigo.

How now Rodorigo? Rod. I do not finde That thou deal'st iustly with me

Iago. What in the contrarie? Rodori. Euery day thou dafts me with some deuise Iago, and rather, as it seemes to me now, keep'st from me all conueniencie, then suppliest me with the least aduantage of hope: I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am I yet perswaded to put vp in peace, what already I haue foolishly suffred

Iago. Will you heare me Rodorigo? Rodori. I haue heard too much: and your words and Performances are no kin together

Iago. You charge me most vniustly

Rodo. With naught but truth: I haue wasted my selfe out of my meanes. The Iewels you haue had from me to deliuer Desdemona, would halfe haue corrupted a Votarist. You haue told me she hath receiu'd them, and return'd me expectations and comforts of sodaine respect, and acquaintance, but I finde none

Iago. Well, go too: very well

Rod. Very well, go too: I cannot go too, (man) nor 'tis not very well. Nay I think it is scuruy: and begin to finde my selfe fopt in it

Iago. Very well

Rodor. I tell you, 'tis not very well: I will make my selfe knowne to Desdemona. If she will returne me my Iewels, I will giue ouer my Suit, and repent my vnlawfull solicitation. If not, assure your selfe, I will seeke satisfaction of you

Iago. You haue said now

Rodo. I: and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing

Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee: and euen from this instant do build on thee a better opinion then euer before: giue me thy hand Rodorigo. Thou hast taken against me a most iust exception: but yet I protest I haue dealt most directly in thy Affaire

Rod. It hath not appeer'd

Iago. I grant indeed it hath not appeer'd: and your suspition is not without wit and iudgement. But Rodorigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, which I haue greater reason to beleeue now then euer (I meane purpose, Courage, and Valour) this night shew it. If thou the next night following enioy not Desdemona, take me from this world with Treacherie, and deuise Engines for my life

Rod. Well: what is it? Is it within, reason and compasse? Iago. Sir, there is especiall Commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place

Rod. Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona returne againe to Venice

Iago. Oh no: he goes into Mauritania and taketh away with him the faire Desdemona, vnlesse his abode be lingred heere by some accident. Wherein none can be so determinate, as the remouing of Cassio

Rod. How do you meane remouing him? Iago. Why, by making him vncapable of Othello's place: knocking out his braines

Rod. And that you would haue me to do

Iago. I: if you dare do your selfe a profit, and a right. He sups to night with a Harlotry: and thither will I go to him. He knowes not yet of his Honourable Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which I will fashion to fall out betweene twelue and one) you may take him at your pleasure. I will be neere to second your Attempt, and he shall fall betweene vs. Come, stand not amaz'd at it, but go along with me: I will shew you such a necessitie in his death, that you shall thinke your selfe bound to put it on him. It is now high supper time: and the night growes to wast. About it

Rod. I will heare further reason for this

Iago. And you shalbe satisfi'd.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Othello, Lodouico, Desdemona, aemilia, and Atendants.

Lod. I do beseech you Sir, trouble your selfe no further

Oth. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walke

Lodoui. Madam, good night: I humbly thanke your Ladyship

Des. Your Honour is most welcome

Oth. Will you walke Sir? Oh Desdemona

Des. My Lord

Othello. Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be return'd forthwith: dismisse your Attendant there: look't be done. Enter.

Des. I will my Lord

Aem. How goes it now? He lookes gentler then he did

Des. He saies he will returne incontinent, And hath commanded me to go to bed, And bid me to dismisse you

Aemi. Dismisse me? Des. It was his bidding: therefore good aemilia, Giue me my nightly wearing, and adieu. We must not now displease him. Aemil. I, would you had neuer seene him

Des. So would not I: my loue doth so approue him, That euen his stubbornesse, his checks, his frownes, (Prythee vn-pin me) haue grace and fauour

Aemi. I haue laid those Sheetes you bad me on the bed

Des. All's one: good Father, how foolish are our minds? If I do die before, prythee shrow'd me In one of these same Sheetes. Aemil. Come, come: you talke

Des. My Mother had a Maid call'd Barbarie, She was in loue: and he she lou'd prou'd mad, And did forsake her. She had a Song of Willough, An old thing 'twas: but it express'd her Fortune, And she dy'd singing it. That Song to night, Will not go from my mind: I haue much to do, But to go hang my head all at one side And sing it like poore Barbarie: prythee dispatch

Aemi. Shall I go fetch your Night-gowne? Des. No, vn-pin me here, This Lodouico is a proper man. Aemil. A very handsome man

Des. He speakes well. Aemil. I know a Lady in Venice would haue walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip

Des. The poore Soule sat singing, by a Sicamour tree. Sing all a greene Willough: Her hand on her bosome her head on her knee, Sing Willough, Willough, Willough. The fresh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanes Sing Willough, &c. Her salt teares fell from her, and softned the stones, Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by these) Willough, Willough. (Prythee high thee: he'le come anon) Sing all a greene Willough must be my Garland. Let no body blame him, his scorne I approue. (Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks? Aemil. It's the wind

Des. I call'd my Loue false Loue: but what said he then? Sing Willough, &c. If I court mo women, you'le couch with mo men. So get thee gone, good night: mine eyes do itch: Doth that boade weeping? Aemil. 'Tis neyther heere, nor there

Des. I haue heard it said so. O these Men, these men! Do'st thou in conscience thinke (tell me aemilia) That there be women do abuse their husbands In such grosse kinde? Aemil. There be some such, no question

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world? Aemil. Why, would not you? Des. No, by this Heauenly light. Aemil. Nor I neither, by this Heauenly light: I might doo't as well i'th' darke

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for al the world? Aemil. The world's a huge thing: It is a great price, for a small vice

Des. Introth, I thinke thou would'st not. Aemil. Introth I thinke I should, and vndoo't when I had done. Marry, I would not doe such a thing for a ioynt Ring, nor for measures of Lawne, nor for Gownes, Petticoats, nor Caps, nor any petty exhibition. But for all the whole world: why, who would not make her husband a Cuckold, to make him a Monarch? I should venture Purgatory for't

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong For the whole world. Aemil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world; and hauing the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your owne world, and you might quickly make it right

Des. I do not thinke there is any such woman. Aemil. Yes, a dozen: and as many to'th' vantage, as would store the world they plaid for. But I do thinke it is their Husbands faults If Wiues do fall: (Say, that they slacke their duties, And powre our Treasures into forraigne laps; Or else breake out in peeuish Iealousies, Throwing restraint vpon vs: Or say they strike vs, Or scant our former hauing in despight) Why we haue galles: and though we haue some Grace, Yet haue we some Reuenge. Let Husbands know, Their wiues haue sense like them: They see, and smell, And haue their Palats both for sweet, and sowre, As Husbands haue. What is it that they do, When they change vs for others? Is it Sport? I thinke it is: and doth Affection breed it? I thinke it doth. Is't Frailty that thus erres? It is so too. And haue not we Affections? Desires for Sport? and Frailty, as men haue? Then let them vse vs well: else let them know, The illes we do, their illes instruct vs so

Des. Good night, good night: Heauen me such vses send, Not to picke bad, from bad; but by bad, mend.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Iago, and Rodorigo.

Iago. Heere, stand behinde this Barke, Straight will he come: Weare thy good Rapier bare, and put it home: Quicke, quicke, feare nothing; Ile be at thy Elbow, It makes vs, or it marres vs, thinke on that, And fixe most firme thy Resolution

Rod. Be neere at hand, I may miscarry in't

Iago. Heere, at thy hand: Be bold, & take thy stand

Rod. I haue no great deuotion to the deed, And yet he hath giuen me satisfying Reasons: 'Tis but a man gone. Forth my Sword: he dies

Iago. I haue rub'd this yong Quat almost to the sense, And he growes angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, Euery way makes my gaine. Liue Rodorigo, He calles me to a restitution large Of Gold, and Iewels, that I bob'd from him, As Guifts to Desdemona. It must not be: If Cassio do remaine, He hath a dayly beauty in his life, That makes me vgly: and besides, the Moore May vnfold me to him: there stand I in much perill: No, he must dye. But so, I heard him comming. Enter Cassio.

Rod. I know his gate, 'tis he: Villaine thou dyest

Cas. That thrust had beene mine enemy indeed, But that my Coate is better then thou know'st: I will make proofe of thine

Rod. Oh, I am slaine

Cassio. I am maym'd for euer: Helpe hoa: Murther, murther. Enter Othello.

Oth. The voyce of Cassio. Iago keepes his word

Rod. O Villaine that I am

Oth. It is euen so

Cas. Oh helpe hoa: Light, a Surgeon

Oth. 'Tis he: O braue Iago, honest, and iust, That hast such Noble sense of thy Friends wrong, Thou teachest me. Minion, your deere lyes dead, And your vnblest Fate highes: Strumpet I come: For of my heart, those Charmes thine Eyes, are blotted. Thy Bed lust-stain'd, shall with Lusts blood bee spotted.

Exit Othello.

Enter Lodouico and Gratiano.

Cas. What hoa? no Watch? No passage? Murther, Murther

Gra. 'Tis some mischance, the voyce is very direfull

Cas. Oh helpe

Lodo. Hearke

Rod. Oh wretched Villaine

Lod. Two or three groane. 'Tis heauy night; These may be counterfeits: Let's think't vnsafe To come into the cry, without more helpe

Rod. Nobody come: then shall I bleed to death. Enter Iago.

Lod. Hearke

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with Light, and Weapons

Iago. Who's there? Who's noyse is this that cries on murther? Lodo. We do not know

Iago. Do not you heare a cry? Cas. Heere, heere: for heauen sake helpe me

Iago. What's the matter? Gra. This is Othello's Ancient, as I take it

Lodo. The same indeede, a very valiant Fellow

Iago. What are you heere, that cry so greeuously? Cas. Iago? Oh I am spoyl'd, vndone by Villaines: Giue me some helpe

Iago. O mee, Lieutenant! What Villaines haue done this? Cas. I thinke that one of them is heereabout. And cannot make away

Iago. Oh treacherous Villaines: What are you there? Come in, and giue some helpe

Rod. O helpe me there

Cassio. That's one of them

Iago. Oh murd'rous Slaue! O Villaine! Rod. O damn'd Iago! O inhumane Dogge! Iago. Kill men i'th' darke? Where be these bloody Theeues? How silent is this Towne? Hoa, murther, murther. What may you be? Are you of good, or euill? Lod. As you shall proue vs, praise vs

Iago. Signior Lodouico? Lod. He Sir

Iago. I cry you mercy: here's Cassio hurt by Villaines

Gra. Cassio? Iago. How is't Brother? Cas. My Legge is cut in two

Iago. Marry heauen forbid: Light Gentlemen, Ile binde it with my shirt. Enter Bianca.

Bian. What is the matter hoa? Who is't that cry'd? Iago. Who is't that cry'd? Bian. Oh my deere Cassio, My sweet Cassio: Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio

Iago. O notable Strumpet. Cassio, may you suspect Who they should be, that haue thus mangled you? Cas. No

Gra. I am sorry to finde you thus; I haue beene to seeke you

Iago. Lend me a Garter. So: - Oh for a Chaire To beare him easily hence

Bian. Alas he faints. Oh Cassio, Cassio, Cassio

Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this Trash To be a party in this Iniurie. Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come; Lend me a Light: know we this face, or no? Alas my Friend, and my deere Countryman Rodorigo? No: Yes sure: Yes, 'tis Rodorigo

Gra. What, of Venice? Iago. Euen he Sir: Did you know him? Gra. Know him? I

Iago. Signior Gratiano? I cry your gentle pardon: These bloody accidents must excuse my Manners, That so neglected you

Gra. I am glad to see you

Iago. How do you Cassio? Oh, a Chaire, a Chaire

Gra. Rodorigo? Iago. He, he, 'tis he: Oh that's well said, the Chaire. Some good man beare him carefully from hence, Ile fetch the Generall's Surgeon. For you Mistris, Saue you your labour. He that lies slaine heere (Cassio) Was my deere friend. What malice was between you

Cas. None in the world: nor do I know the man? Iago. What? looke you pale? Oh beare him o'th' Ayre. Stay you good Gentlemen. Looke you pale, Mistris? Do you perceiue the gastnesse of her eye? Nay, if you stare, we shall heare more anon. Behold her well: I pray you looke vpon her: Do you see Gentlemen? Nay, guiltinesse will speake Though tongues were out of vse. Aemil. Alas, what is the matter? What is the matter, Husband? Iago. Cassio hath heere bin set on in the darke By Rodorigo, and Fellowes that are scap'd: He's almost slaine, and Rodorigo quite dead. Aemil. Alas good Gentleman: alas good Cassio

Iago. This is the fruits of whoring. Prythe aemilia, Go know of Cassio where he supt to night. What, do you shake at that? Bian. He supt at my house, but I therefore shake not

Iago. O did he so? I charge you go with me. Aemil. Oh fie vpon thee Strumpet

Bian. I am no Strumpet, but of life as honest, As you that thus abuse me. Aemil. As I? Fie vpon thee

Iago. Kinde Gentlemen: Let's go see poore Cassio drest. Come Mistris, you must tel's another Tale. aemilia, run you to the Cittadell, And tell my Lord and Lady, what hath happ'd: Will you go on afore? This is the night That either makes me, or foredoes me quight.

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda.

Enter Othello, and Desdemona in her bed.

Oth. It is the Cause, it is the Cause (my Soule) Let me not name it to you, you chaste Starres, It is the Cause. Yet Ile not shed her blood, Nor scarre that whiter skin of hers, then Snow, And smooth as Monumentall Alablaster: Yet she must dye, else shee'l betray more men: Put out the Light, and then put out the Light: If I quench thee, thou flaming Minister, I can againe thy former light restore, Should I repent me. But once put out thy Light, Thou cunning'st Patterne of excelling Nature, I know not where is that Promethaean heate That can thy Light re-Lume. When I haue pluck'd thy Rose, I cannot giue it vitall growth againe, It needs must wither. Ile smell thee on the Tree. Oh Balmy breath, that dost almost perswade Iustice to breake her Sword. One more, one more: Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, And loue thee after. One more, and that's the last. So sweet, was ne're so fatall. I must weepe, But they are cruell Teares: This sorrow's heauenly, It strikes, where it doth loue. She wakes

Des. Who's there? Othello? Othel. I Desdemona

Des. Will you come to bed, my Lord? Oth. Haue you pray'd to night, Desdemon? Des. I my Lord

Oth. If you bethinke your selfe of any Crime Vnreconcil'd as yet to Heauen, and Grace, Solicite for it straight

Des. Alacke, my Lord, What may you meane by that? Oth. Well, do it, and be breefe, I will walke by: I would not kill thy vnprepared Spirit, No, Heauens fore-fend) I would not kill thy Soule

Des. Talke you of killing? Oth. I, I do

Des. Then Heauen haue mercy on mee

Oth. Amen, with all my heart

Des. If you say, I hope you will not kill me

Oth. Humh

Des. And yet I feare you: for you're fatall then When your eyes rowle so. Why I should feare, I know not, Since guiltinesse I know not: But yet I feele I feare

Oth. Thinke on thy sinnes

Des. They are Loues I beare to you

Oth. I, and for that thou dy'st

Des. That death's vnnaturall, that kils for louing. 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 Handkerchiefe Which I so lou'd, and gaue thee, thou gau'st to Cassio

Des. No by my Life, and Soule: send for the man, And aske him

Oth. Sweet Soule, take heed, take heed of Periury, Thou art on thy death-bed

Des. I, but not yet to dye

Oth. Presently. Therefore confesse thee freely of thy sinne: For to deny each Article with Oath, Cannot remoue, nor choake the strong Conception That I do grone withall. Thou art to dye

Des. O Heauen haue mercy on me

Oth. I say, Amen

Des. And haue you mercy too. I neuer did Offend you in my life: neuer lou'd Cassio, But with such generall warrantie of Heauen, As I might loue. I neuer gaue him Token

Oth. By Heauen I saw my Handkerchiefe in's hand. O periur'd woman, thou do'st stone my heart, And makes me call, what I intend to do, A Murther, which I thought a Sacrifice. I saw the Handkerchiefe

Des. He found it then: I neuer gaue it him: Send, for him hither: Let him confesse a truth

Oth. He hath confest

Des. What, my Lord? Oth. That he hath vs'd thee

Des. How? vnlawfully? Oth. I

Des. He will not say so

Oth. No: his mouth is stopp'd: Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't

Des. Oh, my feare interprets. What is he dead? Oth. Had all his haires bin liues, my great Reuenge Had stomacke for them all

Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I vndone

Oth. Out Strumpet: weep'st thou for him to my face? Des. O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not

Oth. Downe Strumpet

Des. Kill me to morrow, let me liue to night

Oth. Nay, if you striue

Des. But halfe an houre

Oth. Being done, there is no pawse

Des. But while I say one prayer

Oth. It is too late.

Smothers her.

aemilia at the doore.

Aemil. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa? My Lord, my Lord

Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead? I that am cruell, am yet mercifull, I would not haue thee linger in thy paine? So, so. Aemil. within. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord? Oth. Who's there? Aemil. Oh good my Lord, I would speake a word with you

Oth. Yes: 'Tis aemilia: by and by. Shee's dead. 'Tis like she comes to speake of Cassio's death: The noise was high. Hah, no more moouing? Still as the Graue. Shall she come in? Wer't good? I thinke she stirres againe. No, what's best to do? If she come in, shee'l sure speake to my wife: My wife, my wife: what wife? I haue no wife. Oh insupportable! Oh heauy houre! Me thinkes, it should be now a huge Eclipse Of Sunne, and Moone; and that th' affrighted Globe Did yawne at Alteration. Aemil. I do beseech you That I may speake with you. Oh good my Lord

Oth. I had forgot thee: oh come in aemilia. Soft, by and by, let me the Curtaines draw. Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now? Enter aemilia.

Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done

Oth. What? now? Aemil. But now, my Lord

Oth. It is the very error of the Moone, She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont, And makes men mad. Aemil. Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'd A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo

Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd? Aemil. No, Cassio is not kill'd

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then Murther's out of tune, And sweet Reuenge growes harsh

Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd. Aemil. Alas! what cry is that? Oth. That? What? Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice. Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe, Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake

Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye. Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed? Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell: Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell

Oth. Why, how should she be murdred? Aemil. Alas: who knowes? Oth. You heare her say her selfe, it was not I. Aemil. 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. Aemil. Oh the more Angell she, and you the blacker Diuell

Oth. She turn'd to folly: and she was a whore. Aemil. Thou do'st bely her, and thou art a diuell

Oth. She was false as water. Aemil. Thou art rash as fire, to say That she was false. Oh she was heauenly true