If I quench thee, thou flaming minifter, [Sets down the taper. I'll fmell thee on the tree; [Kiffing her. Oh balmy breath, that doft almost perfwade But they are cruel tears: this Sorrow's heav'nly; Def. Who's there? Othello? Oh. Ay, Defdemona. Def. Will you come to bed, my Lord? Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime Def. Alack, my Lord, What may you mean by That? Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by. No, (heav'ns forefend!) I would not kill thy foul. his Bofom, ftrikes him into an inftant Reflexion, that if he puts out the Light, he can rekindle it; but if he once puts out the Light of her Life, that will be extinguish'd for ever. While he is bufied in this Contemplation, he throws his Eyes towards her; and then, footh'd with her beauteous Appear ance, fets down the Light, to go and kifs her. Upon this, Desdemona wakes; and they continue in Difcourfe together till he ftifles her. Oth. Oth. Ay, I do. Def. Then heav'n have mercy on me! Def. If you fay fo, I hope, you will not kill me. Oth. Hum. Def. And yet I fear you: for you're fatal then, When your eyes rowl fo. Why I fhould fear, I know not, Since guilt I know not yet, I feel, I fear. Oth. Think on thy fins. Def. They're Loves I bear to you. Oth. Ay, and for That thou dy'ft. Def. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip Some bloody paffion shakes your very frame; Oth. Peace, and be still. Def. I will fo: what's the matter? Which I fo lov'd, and gave thee, thou gav't Caffio. Oth. Sweet Soul, take heed, take heed of perjury; Thou art on thy death-bed. Def. Ay, but not yet to die. Oth. Prefently; Therefore confefs thee freely of thy fin: For to deny each article with oath, Cannot remove, nor choak, the ftrong conception That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. Oth. I fay, amen. Def. And have you mercy too! Offend you in my life; never lov'd Caffio, A mur A murther, which I thought a facrifice. Def. He found it then ; I never gave it him; fend for him hither, Oth. He hath confeft. Def. What, my lord? Oth. That he hathus'd thee Def. How? unlawfully? Oth. Ay. Def. He will not fay fo. Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd; Honeft lage hath ta'en order for't. Def. My fear interprets then-What, is he dead? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge Had ftomach for them all. Def. Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone. Oth. Out, ftrumpet! weep'st thou for him to my face? Def. Oh banish me, my Lord, but kill me not. Def. Kill me to morrow, let me live to night. Oth. Nay, if you ftrive Def. But half an hour. Oth. Being done, there is no paufe. Def. But while I fay one prayer. Oth. It is too late. Emilia, at the door. [He fmothers her. Emil. My lord, my lord! what hoa! 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, fo. Emil. within.] What hoa! my Lord, my Lord! Oth. Who's there? Emil. Oh, my good Lord, I would fpeak a word with you. Oth. Oth. Yes, 'tis Emilia- -by and by-fhe's dead. Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipfe Of Sun, and Moon, and that th' affrighted globe Emil. I beseech you, That I may speak with you. Oh, good my lord!- Where art thou? what's the matter with thee now? Enter Emilia. Emil. Oh, my good lord, yonder's foul murther 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 fhe was wont, Emil. Caffio, my Lord, hath kill'd A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo. Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Caio kill'd? Emil. No, Caffio is not kill'd. Oth. Not Caffio kill'd? then murther's out of tune, And fweet revenge grows harsh. Def. Oh, falfely, falfely murther'd! Emil. Alas! what cry is that? Oth. That? what? Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice. Emil. Õh, who hath done this deed ? Def. Def. No body, I myself, farewel ; Commend me to my kind Lord; oh, farewel. [Dies. Oth. You heard her fay, herself, it was not I. Emil. Oh, the more Angel fhe, and you the blacker Oth. She turn'd to folly, and fhe was a whore. Emil. Thou art rafh as fire, to fay That she was falfe. Oh, fhe was heav'nly true. Oth, Thy husband. Emil. That fhe was falfe to wedlock? I'd not have fold her for it. Emil. My husband! Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first ; An honest man he is, and hates the flime That sticks on filthy deeds. Emil. My husband! Oth. What needs this iteration, woman? I fay, thy husband. Emil. Oh mitrefs! villany has made mocks with love. My husband fay, she was false! Oth. He, woman; I fay, thy husband; do'ft understand the word ? Rot |