Othello Page #13

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Whose solid virtue the shot of accident

nor dart of chance could graze nor pierce?

IAGo:
He is much changed.

Are his wits safe?

GRATIANo:
Is he not light of brain?

He's that he is. I may not breathe

my censure what he might be.

- What, strike his wife?

- Faith, that was not so well...

...yet would I knew that

stroke would prove the worst.

Is it his use? Did the letters work

upon his blood and new-create this fault?

Alas, alas. It is not honesty in me

to speak what I have seen and known.

You shall observe him, and his

own courses shall denote him...

...so that I may save my speech.

I am sorry that I am deceived in him.

- You have seen nothing then?

- Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together.

But then I saw no harm. I heard each

syllable that breath made up between them.

- What, did they never whisper?

- Never.

- Nor send you o'th'way?

- Never.

To fetch her fan, her

gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

- Never, my lord.

- That's strange.

I durst, my lord, to wager she is

honest, lay down my soul at stake.

If you think other, remove the

thought. It doth abuse your bosom.

If any wretch have put this in your head...

...let heaven requite it

with the serpent's curse.

For if she be not honest, chaste

and true, there's no man happy.

Bid her come hither. Go.

She says enough.

Yet she's a simple bawd

that cannot say as much.

This is a subtle whore...

...a closet, lock and key,

of villainous secrets...

...and yet she'll kneel and pray.

I have seen her do't.

My lord, what is your will?

OTHELLo:
Pray, chuck, come hither.

What is your pleasure?

Let me see your eyes.

Look in my face.

- What horrible fancy's this?

OTHELLo:
Some of your function.

Leave procreants alone and shut the door.

Cough or cry "hem" if any body come.

Your mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch.

Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?

I understand a fury in your

words, but not the words.

Why, what art thou?

Your wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.

Come, swear it, damn thyself.

Lest being like one of heaven...

...the devils themselves should fear to

seize thee. Therefore be double-damned.

- Swear that thou art honest.

- Heaven doth know it.

Heaven truly knows that

thou art false as hell.

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

O, Desdemona.

Desdemonda. Away, away.

Alas, the heavy day. Why do you weep?

Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?

Had it pleased heaven to

try me with afflictions...

...had they rained all kinds of

sores and shames on my bare head...

...steeped me in poverty to the very lips...

...given to captivity

me and my utmost hopes...

...I should have found in some

part of my soul a drop of patience.

But alas, to make me a fixed

figure for the time of scorn...

...to point his slow unmoving finger at.

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

But there, where I have

garnered 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 cistern for

foul toads to knot and gender in!

Turn thy complexion there, patience...

...thou young and rose-lipped cherubim!

Ay, there look grim as hell!

My noble lord esteems me honest.

O, ay. As summer flies are in the

shambles, that quicken even with blowing.

O, thou weed, that art so lovely fair...

...and smell'st so sweet...

...that the sense aches at thee...

...would thou hadst ne'er been born!

Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

Was this fair paper, this most goodly

book, made to write "whore" upon?

What 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 wind, the bawdy wind

that kisses all it meets...

...is hushed within the hollow

mine of earth and will not hear it.

What committed? Lmpudent strumpet!

- By heaven, you do me wrong.

- Are you not a strumpet?

- No, as I am a Christian.

- What?

If to preserve this vessel

from any foul unlawful touch...

...be not to be a strumpet, I am none.

- Not a whore?

- No, as I shall be saved.

- Is't possible?

- O, heaven bless us.

I cry you mercy then:

I took you for that cunning whore

of venice that married with othello.

You, mistress, that have the office opposite

to Saint Peter and keep the gate of hell!

You, you, ay, you! We have done our course.

Here's money for your pains.

Pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel.

Alas, what does

this gentleman conceive?

How do you, madam? How do you, my sweet lady?

Faith, half asleep.

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

- With who?

- With my lord, madam.

Who is thy lord?

Why, he that is yours, sweet lady.

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

I cannot weep, nor answer have I

none, but what should go by water.

Prithee, tonight lay on my

bed our wedding sheets...

...remember...

...and call thy husband hither.

Here is a change indeed.

'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet.

How have I been behaved...

...that he might stick the

smallest opinion on my least misuse?

What is your pleasure,

madam? How is't with you?

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 at chiding.

What's the matter, lady?

Alas, lago, my lord hath so bewhored her...

...thrown such despite and heavy terms

upon her, as true hearts cannot bear.

Am I that name, lago?

What name, fair lady?

Such as she says my lord did say I was.

He called her whore. A beggar could not

have laid such terms upon his callet.

- Why did he so?

- I do not know.

I am sure I am none such.

O, do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day.

Hath she forsook so many noble matches...

...her father, her country,

her friends, to be called whore?

- Would it not make one weep?

- It is my wretched fortune.

O, beshrew him for't. How

comes this trick upon him?

Heaven doth know.

I will be hanged if some eternal villain,

some busy and insinuating rogue...

...some cozening slave to get some

office, have not devised this slander.

- I'll be hanged else.

- Fie, there is no such man.

It is impossible.

DESDEMoNA:
If any such

there be, heaven pardon him.

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 abused by some outrageous knave...

...some base notorious

knave, some scurvy fellow.

- Speak within door.

- O, fie.

Some such squire he was that turned

your wit the seamy side without...

...and made you to suspect me with the Moor.

You are a fool, go to.

O, good lago, what can 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

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