Save you your labour.—He that lies slain here, Cassio, Was my dear friend : What malice was between you?

Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the man. Iago. [To Bian.) What, look you pale?-0, bear him out oʻthe air.

[Cassio and Rod. are borne off. Stay you, good gentlemen :-Look you pale, mistress? Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon:Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her ; Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak, Though tongues were out of use.

Enter EMILIA.
Emil. 'Las, what's the matter; what's the matter,

husband?
Jago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark,
By Roderigo, and fellows that are scap'd;
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.

Emil. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio! lago. This is the fruit of whoring.–Pr'ythee,

Emilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night:-
What, do you

shake at that? Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore shake

not. Iago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. Emil. Fye, fye upon thee, strumpet!

Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest, As you that thus abuse me.

VOL. XIV.

Z

Emil.

As I? foh! fye upon thee! lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio

dress'd:Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale.Emilia, run you to the citadel, And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd.Will you go on, I pray? This is the night, [Aside. That either makes me, or fordoes 83 me quite.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Bedchamber: Desdemona in bed asleep. A light

burning.

Enter OTHELLO. Oth. s* 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 hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster.

[Takes off his sword. Yet she must die, 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'd thy

rose,

I cannot give it vital growth again,
It needs must wither:-I'll smell it on the tree.-

[Kissing her.
O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword!-One more, one more.-
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after:-One more, and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly;
It strikes, where it doth love. She wakes-

Des. Who's there? Othello?
Oth.

Ay, Desdemona.
Des. Will you come to bed, my lord?
Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona?
Des.

Ay, my lord.
Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime,
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.

Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that?

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by :
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
No,-Heaven forefend!-I would not kill thy soul.

Des. Talk you of killing?
Oth.

Ay, I do.
Des.

Then, heaven
Have mercy on me!
Oth.

Amen, with all my heart!
Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.
Oth. Humph!
Des. And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then,