The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 407

OTh.e.l.lO. What, did they never whisper?

EMILIA. Never, my lord.

OTh.e.l.lO. Nor send you out o' the way?

EMILIA. Never.

OTh.e.l.lO. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

EMILIA. Never, my lord.

OTh.e.l.lO. That's strange.

EMILIA. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, Lay down my soul at stake. If you think other, Remove your 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; the purest of their wives Is foul as slander.

OTh.e.l.lO. Bid her come hither; go. Exit Emilia.

She says enough; yet she's a simple bawd That cannot say as much. This is a subtle wh.o.r.e, A closet lock and key of villainous secrets.

And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen her do't.

Enter Desdemona with Emilia.

DESDEMONA. My lord, what is your will?

OTh.e.l.lO. Pray, chuck, come hither.

DESDEMONA. What is your pleasure?

OTh.e.l.lO. Let me see your eyes; Look in my face.

DESDEMONA. What horrible fancy's this?

OTh.e.l.lO. [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.

DESDEMONA. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?

I understand a fury in your words, But not the words.

OTh.e.l.lO. Why, what art thou?

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

OTh.e.l.lO. Come, swear it, d.a.m.n thyself; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves Should fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-d.a.m.n'd; Swear thou art honest.

DESDEMONA. Heaven doth truly know it.

OTh.e.l.lO. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as h.e.l.l.

DESDEMONA. To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false?

OTh.e.l.lO. O Desdemona! Away! away! away!

DESDEMONA. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?

Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?

If haply 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.e.l.lO. Had it pleased heaven To try me with affliction, had they rain'd All kinds 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 A 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 cistern for foul toads To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there, Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin, Ay, there, look grim as h.e.l.l!

DESDEMONA. I hope my n.o.ble lord esteems me honest.

OTh.e.l.lO. 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 ne'er been born!

DESDEMONA. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

OTh.e.l.lO. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write "wh.o.r.e" 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 it. What committed?

Impudent strumpet!

DESDEMONA. By heaven, you do me wrong.

OTh.e.l.lO. Are not you a strumpet?

DESDEMONA. 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.e.l.lO. What, not a wh.o.r.e?

DESDEMONA. No, as I shall be saved.

OTh.e.l.lO. Is't possible?

DESDEMONA. O, heaven forgive us!

OTh.e.l.lO. I cry you mercy then; I took you for that cunning wh.o.r.e of Venice That married with Oth.e.l.lo. [Raises his voice.] You, mistress, That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, And keep the gate of h.e.l.l!

Re-enter Emilia.

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.

EMILIA. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?

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

DESDEMONA. Faith, half asleep.

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

DESDEMONA. With who?

EMILIA. Why, with my lord, madam.

DESDEMONA. Who is thy lord?

EMILIA. He that is yours, sweet lady.

DESDEMONA. 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 my wedding sheets. Remember, And call thy husband hither.

EMILIA. Here's a change indeed!

Exit.

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

How have I been behaved, that he might stick The small'st opinion on my least misuse?

Re-enter Emilia with Iago.

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

DESDEMONA. 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's the matter, lady?

EMILIA. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewh.o.r.ed her, Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, As true hearts cannot bear.

DESDEMONA. Am I that name, Iago?

IAGO. What name, fair lady?

DESDEMONA. Such as she says my lord did say I was.

EMILIA. He call'd her wh.o.r.e; a beggar in his drink Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.

IAGO. Why did he so?

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

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

EMILIA. Hath she forsook so many n.o.ble matches, Her father and her country and her friends, To be call'd wh.o.r.e? Would it not make one weep?

DESDEMONA. It is my wretched fortune.

IAGO. Beshrew him for't!

How comes this trick upon him?

DESDEMONA. Nay, heaven doth know.

EMILIA. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, Some busy and insinuating rogue, Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, Have not devised this slander; I'll be hang'd else.

IAGO. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.

DESDEMONA. If any such there be, heaven pardon him!

EMILIA. A halter pardon him! And h.e.l.l gnaw his bones!

Why should he call her wh.o.r.e? Who keeps her company?

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