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SCENE IX

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OTHELLO

I am not valiant neither,

But every puny whipster gets my sword:—

But why should honour outlive honesty?

Let it go all.

EMILIA

What did thy song bode, lady?

Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,

And die in music:—

[Sings.]

“Willow, willow, willow.”

Moor, she was chaste; she lov’d thee, cruel Moor;

So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;

So speaking as I think, I die,—I die.

[Dies.]

OTHELLO

I have another weapon in this chamber;

It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper:—

O, here it is.—Uncle, I must come forth.

GRATIANO

[Within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear:

Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

OTHELLO

Look in upon me then, and speak with me,

Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

[Re-enter Gratiano.]

GRATIANO

What is the matter?

OTHELLO

Behold, I have a weapon;

A better never did itself sustain

Upon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day

That with this little arm and this good sword

I have made my way through more impediments

Than twenty times your stop:—but, O vain boast!

Who can control his fate? ‘tis not so now.—

Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d;

Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt,

And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.

Do you go back dismay’d? ‘tis a lost fear;

Man but a rush against Othello’s breast,

And he retires:—where should Othello go?—

Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench!

Pale as thy smock! When we shall meet at compt,

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,

And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!

Even like thy chastity.—

O cursèd, cursèd slave!—Whip me, ye devils,

From the possession of this heavenly sight!

Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!

Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!—

O Desdemon! dead, Desdemon! dead! O!