Oth. I cry you mercy, then I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, That married with Othello. DESDEMONA'S FIDELITY. 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 I do not yet, and ever did, And ever will-Though he do shake me off ACT V. OTHELLO'S IRRESOLUTION TO MURDER DESDEMONA. SCENE. A Bedchamber; DESDEMONA in bed asleep. A light burning. 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 her's than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster. [Takes off his sword Yet she must dic, 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 thine, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat, That can thy light relume. When I have pluck' thy rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, * i. e. The light of life. It needs must wither:-I'll smell it on the tree - [Kissing her. O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly: HIS CONFUSION AFTER THE MURDER. Yes; 'tis Emelia:-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?-I have no wife: O, insupportable! O heavy hour! Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe Had she been true, HIS LOVE. If heaven would make me such another world HIS REMORSE. Behold! I have a weapon; A better never did itself sustain Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day, * A precious stone. And he retires:-Where should Othello go?- O cursed, cursed slave!-Whip me, ye devils, Dead? O! O! O! HIS SPEECH BEFORE HIS DEATH. Soft you; a word or two, before you go. I have done the state some service, and they know it, Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Richer than all his tribe; cf one, whose subdu'd eyes, [Stabs himself. ROMEO AND JULIET. ACT I. LOVE. LOVE is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; * Account. |