othello 5.2

This sorrow’s heavenly, it strikes where it doth love. She wakes. Who’s there? Othello?
Ay, Desdemona. Will you come to bed, my lord?
Have you pray’d tonight, Desdemon? Ay, my lord.
If you bethink yourself of any crimeUnreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,Solicit for it straight Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that?
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. Talk you of killing?
Ay, I do. Then heavenHave mercy on me!
Amen, with all my heart! If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.
Humh! And yet I fear you; for you’re fatal thenWhen your eyes roll so! Why I should fear I know not,Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel fear.
Think on thy sins. They are loves I bear to you.
Ay, and for that thou di’st. That death’s unnatural that kills for loving.Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,They do not point on me.
Peace, and be still! I will so. What’s the matter?
That handkerchief which I so lov’d, and gave thee,Thou gav’st to Cassio. No, by my life and soul!Send for the man, and ask him.
Sweet soul, take heed,Take heed of perjury, thou art on thy death-bed. Ay, but not yet to die.
Yes, presently:Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin;For to deny each article with oathCannot remove nor choke with strong conceptionThat I do groan withal. Thou art to die Then Lord have mercy on me!
I say, amen And have you mercy too! I never didOffend you in my life; never lov’d CassioBut with such general warranty of heavenAs I might love. I never gave him token.
By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in’s hand.O perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart,And mak’st me call what I intend to doA murder, which I thought a sacrifice.I saw the handkerchief. He found it then;I never gave it him. Send for him hither;Let him confess a truth.
He hath confess’d What, my lord?
That he hath us’d thee. How? Unlawfully?
Ay. He will not say so.
No- his mouth is stopp’;Honest Iago hath ta’en order for’t O, my fear interprets. What, is he dead?
Had all his hairs been lives, my great revengeHad stomach for them all Alas, he is betray’d and I undone!
Out, strumpet! weep’st thou for him to my face? O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!
Down, strumpet!d Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!
Nay, an’ you strive- But half an hour!
Being done, there is no pause. But while I say one prayer!
It is too late. O Lord, Lord, Lord!

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