DES.

What horrible fancy's this?

OTH [To Emilia.]

Some of your function, mistress;

Leave procreants alone, and shut the door;

Cough, or cry »hem,« if anybody come.

Your mystery, your mystery; [nay], dispatch.

 

Exit Emilia.

 

DES.

Upon my knee, what doth your speech import?

I understand a fury in your words,

[But not the words].

OTH.

Why? what art thou?

DES.

Your wife, my lord; your true

And loyal wife.

OTH.

Come swear it, damn thyself,

Lest being like one of heaven, the devils themselves

Should fear to seize thee; therefore be double damn'd:

Swear thou art honest.

DES.

Heaven doth truly know it.

OTH.

Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

DES.

To whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?

OTH.

Ah, Desdemon! Away, away, away!

DES.

Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?

Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?

If happily 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 they rain'd

All kind 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 place of my soul

A drop of patience; but, alas, to make me

The fixed figure for the time of scorn

To point his slow [unmoving] finger at!

Yet could I bear that too, well, very well;

But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,

Where either I must live or bear no life;

The fountain from the which my current runs

Or else dries up: to be discarded thence!

Or keep it as a cestern for foul toads

To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there,

Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin –

Ay, here look grim as hell!

DES.

I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

OTH.

O ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,

That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed!

Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet

That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst never been born!

DES.

Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

OTH.

Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,

Made to write »whore« upon? What committed?

Committed? O thou public commoner,

I should make very forges of my cheeks,

That would to cinders burn up modesty,

Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed?

Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;

The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,

Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth

And will not hear't. What committed?

[Impudent strumpet!]

DES.

By heaven, you do me wrong.

OTH.

Are not you a strumpet?

DES.

No, as I am a Christian.

If to preserve this vessel for my lord

From any other foul unlawful touch

Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

OTH.

What, not a whore?

DES.

No, as I shall be sav'd.

OTH.

Is't possible?

DES.

O, heaven forgive us!

OTH.

I cry you mercy then.

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice

That married with Othello. –

 

[Raising his voice.]

 

You, mistress,

 

Enter Emilia.

 

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,

And keeps the gate of hell! You, you! ay, you!

We have done our course; there's money for your pains.

I pray you turn the key and keep our counsel.

 

Exit.

 

EMIL.

Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?

How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?

DES.

Faith, half asleep.

EMIL.

Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

DES.

With who?

EMIL.

Why, with my lord, madam.

DES.

Who is thy lord?

EMIL.

He that is yours, sweet lady.

DES.

I have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia;

I cannot weep, nor answers have I none

But what should go by water. Prithee to-night

Lay on my bed my wedding-sheets – remember;

And call thy husband hither.

EMIL.

Here's a change indeed!

 

Exit.

 

DES.

'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet.

How have I been behav'd, that he might stick

The small'st opinion on my least misuse?

 

Enter Iago and Emilia.

 

IAGO.

What is your pleasure, madam? How is't with you?

DES.

I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes

Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.

He might have chid me so; for in good faith

I am a child to chiding.

IAGO.

What is the matter, lady?

EMIL.

Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her,

Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,

That true hearts cannot bear it.

DES.

Am I that name, Iago?

IAGO.

What name, fair lady?

DES.

Such as she said my lord did say I was.

EMIL.

He call'd her whore. A beggar in his drink

Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.

IAGO.

Why did he so?

DES.

I do not know; I am sure I am none such.

IAGO.

Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day!

EMIL.

Hath she forsook so many noble matches?

Her father? and her country? and her friends?

To be call'd whore? Would it not make one weep?

DES.

It is my wretched fortune.

IAGO.

Beshrew him for't!

How comes this trick upon him?

DES.

Nay, heaven doth know.

EMIL.

I will be hang'd if some eternal villain,

Some busy and insinuating rogue,

Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,

Have not devis'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, heaven pardon him!

EMIL.

A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his bones!

Why should he call her whore? Who keeps her company?

What place? what time? what form? what likelihood?

The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave,

Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.

O [heaven], that such companions thou'dst unfold,

And put in every honest hand a whip

To lash the rascals naked through the world

Even from the east to th' west!

IAGO.

Speak within door.

EMIL.

O fie upon them! Some such squire he was

That turn'd your wit the seamy side without,

And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

IAGO.

You are a fool; go to.

DES.

Alas, 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 mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense

Delighted them [in] any other form;

Or that I do not yet, and ever did,

And ever will (though he do shake me off

To beggarly divorcement) love him dearly,

Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much,

And his unkindness may defeat my life,

But never taint my love. I cannot say »whore.«

It does abhor me now I speak the word;

To do the act that might the addition earn,

Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.

IAGO.

I pray you be content; 'tis but his humor.

The business of the state does him offense,

[And he does chide with you].

DES.

If 'twere no other –

IAGO.

It is but so, I warrant.

 

[Trumpets within.]

 

Hark how these instruments summon to supper!

The messengers of Venice stays the meat.

Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well.

 

Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.

 

Enter Roderigo.

 

How now, Roderigo?

ROD. I do not find that thou deal'st justly with me.

IAGO. What in the contrary?

ROD. Every day thou daff'st me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it seems to me now, keep'st from me all conveniency than suppliest me with the least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it; nor am I yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly suff'red.

IAGO. Will you hear me, Roderigo?

ROD. [Faith,] I have heard too much; [for] your words and performances are no kin together.

IAGO. You charge me most unjustly.

ROD. With nought but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means.