That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
Macd. What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?

Rosse. No mind that's honest

Despised Old Age.

I have liv'd long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have: but in their stead,

But in it shares some woe; tho' the main part Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath,

Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue

for ever,

Which shall possess them with the heaviest
That ever yet they heard.
Macd. Humph! I guess at it. [babes
Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and
Savagely slaughter'd; to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful Heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; [speak, Give sorrow words: the grief that does not Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it Macd. My children too? [break. Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence! my Rosse. I have said. [wife kill'd too? Mal. Be comforted: Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children!-All my pretty

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Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword; let grief


Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd O,I could play the woman with mine [Heaven, And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle Cut short all intermission: front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too!

Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our pow'r is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;

The night is long that never finds the day.


Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.

Diseases of the Mind incurable. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?

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"Tis the curse of service;
Preferment goes by letter and affection,
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first.

In Dispraise of Honesty. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender; and, when he is old, cashier'd:

Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are, Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves: And throwing but shows of service on their lords,

Do well thrive by them; and when they have lin'd their coats,

Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul,

And such a one do I profess myself.
For, sir,

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve,
For doves to peck at: I am not what I seem.

Love the sole Motive of Othello's marrying.
For know, Iago,

But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
I would not my unhoused free condition
Put into circumscription and confine,
For the sea's worth.

Othello's Relation of his Courtship to the Senate.
Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters-
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my

And little blest with the set phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had sevenyears' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have

Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic
(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal),
I won his daughter with.
Her father

Lov'd me; oft invited me; still question'd me
The story of my life, from year to year;
The battles, sieges, fortunes, that I have pass'd.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it,
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly
breach ;

Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence;
And portance in my travel's history.

These things to hear

Would Desdemona seriously incline;
But still the house affairs would draw her

Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which, I observing,
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas pass-
ing strange;

Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful—

She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man :-she

thank'd me;

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And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas,
As hell's from heaven! If I were now to die,
Olympus high and duck again as low
'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
That not another comfort like to this
My soul hath her content so absolute,
Succeeds in unknown fate.

A Lover's Exclamation.
Excellent wretch! perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again.

Othello's first Suspicion.

Think, my lord! by Heaven he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown.-Thou dost mean something:

I heard thee say but now-thou likd'st not that— When Cassio left my wife; what didst not like? And when I told thee-he was of my counsel, In my whole course of wooing: thou cried'st "Indeed!"

And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth. I think thou dost;

And for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty,
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them
Therefore, these stops of thine fright me the
For such things in a false, disloyal knave
Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just,
They are close denotements working from the
That passion cannot rule.

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And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have: or, for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years: yet that's not much-
She's gone; I am abus'd; and my relief
Must be to loath her. O curse of marriage!
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapor of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others' uses.

Trifles light as air

Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong As proofs of holy writ.

The Tortures of Jealousy.

Enter Othello.

Iago. Look where he comes! not poppy, nor mandragora,

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.

Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? to me? [that.
Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of
Oth. Avaunt! begone! thou hast set me on
the rack:

I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd,
Than but to know't a little.

Iago. How now, my lord?
Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of
I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.
Iago. I am sorry to hear this.

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known: O now, for ever,
Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue! O farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill

The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner; and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!
Jago. Is't possible, my lord?

On horror's head horrors accumulate:
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd;
For nothing canst thou to damnation add,
Greater than that.

Iago. O grace! O Heaven defend me!
Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense?
God be wi' you: take mine office.-O wretched
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice! [fool,
O monstrous world! take note, take note, O

To be direct and honest, is not safe!

I thank you for this profit; and, from hence,
I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence.
Oth. Nay, stay :-thou shouldst be honest.
Iago. I should be wise: for honesty's a fool,
And loses that it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not:
I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as

As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,
I'll not endure it!-Would I were satisfied!
Othello's Story of the Handkerchief.
That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people; she told her, while
she kept it,

'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my fa-
Entirely to her love; but if she lost it, ther
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should
After new fancies. She, dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wiv'd,
To give it her. I did so; and take heed of't,
Make it a darling, like your precious eye;
To lose 't or givet away, where such perdition,
As nothing else could match.

-There's magic in the web of it:
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The sun to make two hundred compasses,
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work:
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the

And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.

A Lover's Computation of Time. What! keep a week away? seven days and nights? [hours,

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a Eight-score eight hours? and lovers' absent More tedious than the dial eight-score times? O weary reckoning!

whore ;

Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof;
[Catching hold on him.
Or by the worth of mine eternal soul,
Thou hadst better have been born a dog,
Than answer my wak'd wrath.
Jago Is it come to this?

[prove it,

Oth. Make me to see it; or, at the least, so That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, To hang a doubt on: or, woe upon thy life! Iago. My noble lord

Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture

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Othello's Speech, after having received the Man

date when confirmed in his Suspicions. Ay, you did wish that I would make her turn: Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, And turn again; and she can weep, Sir, weep: And she's obedient, as you say-obedientVery obedient-Proceed you in your tears. Concerning this, Sir-O well-painted passion! I am commanded home:-get you away; I'll send for you anon.-Sir, I obey the mandate, And will return to Venice-hence, avaunt !

[Ex. Des.

Cassio shall have my place. And-Sir, to-
I do entreat that we may sup together. [night,
You are welcome, Sir, to Cyprus
Goats and monkeys!

Exit Othello.
His pathetic Upbraiding of his Wife.
Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech
I understand a fury in your words, [import?
But not your words.

Oth. Why, what art thou?

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

Oth. Come, swear it; damn thyself; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves

Should fear to seize thee: therefore, be double
Swear thou art honest.
Des. Heaven doth truly know it.
Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art
false as hell.

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

Oth. O, Desdemona, away! away! away!
Des. Alas, the heavy day! who do you weep?
Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?
If, haply, you my father do suspect

An instrument of this your calling back, [him, Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost Why, I have lost him too.

Oth. Had it pleased Heaven
To try me with affliction; had he 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 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 figure at-
0! O!

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


Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim; Ay, there, look grim as hell! [nest. Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me hoOth. O, ay; as summer-flies are in the shambles,

That quicken even with blowing. Othou weed,
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the sense aches at thee, 'would thou hadst
ne'er been born!
Des. Alas! what ignorant sin have I com-
Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly

Made to write whore upon! what, committed!
Committed! O thou public commoner !
I should make very forges of my cheeks
That would to cinders burn up modesty, [ted!
Did I but speak thy deeds.What, commit-
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon

The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,
as hush'd within the hollow mine of earth,

And will not hear it: what committed! Impudent strumpet!

Des. By Heaven, you do me wrong!
Oth. Are you not a strumpet?
Des. 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. What, not a whore?
Des. No, as I shall be saved.
Oth. Is it possible?

Des. O Heaven forgive us!
Oth. I cry you mercy, then;

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice,
That married with Othello.

Desdemona's Faithfulness.
O good Iago,

What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of

I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel—
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed:
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did,
And ever will-though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement-love him dearly,
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do

And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love.

A Bed-chamber: Desdemona is discovered asleep in her Bed.

Enter Othello, with a Light and Sword. Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soulLet 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.

[Lays down the 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 thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.

[Sets down the Taper. When I have pluck'd thy rose, cannot give it vital growth again; It needs must wither: I'll smell it on the tree. [Kissing her. Justice herself to break her sword! One more. O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 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.

Othello's Confusion ofter having murdered his Wife.

Yes 'tis Emilia:-by and by-she's dead, 'Tis like, she comes to speak of Cassio's death:

The noise was high. Still as the grave. good?

Ha! no more moving? | §31. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING
Shall she come in? wer't

I think she stirs again :-no.-What's the best?
If she comes in, she'll sure speak to my wife:-
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O insupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

His Love for her.

Had she been true,


THE purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.


That which in mean men we entitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

Banishment; Consolation under it.
All places that the eye of Heaven visits,

If Heaven would make me such another world, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens :

Of one entire and prefect chrysolite,

I'd not have sold her for it.

His bitter Remorse.

Behold! I have a weapon:


A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I've seen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impedi-
Than twenty times your stop.-But, O vain
Who can control his fate? it is not so now.
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd.
Here is my journey's end, here is my
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


Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at
This look of thine will hurl my soul from hea-
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my
E'en like thy chastity-
O cursed, cursed 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 Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!

His last Speech.

Soft you; a word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they
know it;

No more of that.-I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you


Of one that lov'd not wisely, but too well:
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose sub-
dued eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this:
And say, besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him-thus.

[Stabs himself.

Teach thy necessity to reason thus ;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee;

But thou the king: woe doth the heavier sit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say, I sent thee forth to purchase honor,
And not the king exil'd thee:Or suppose,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou
Suppose the singing-birds, musicians; [com'st:
The grass whercon thou tread'st, the presence

The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance:
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Thoughts ineffectual to moderate Affliction.
O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.


Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people:
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy ;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of

And patient under-bearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster wench;
A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee :
With "Thanks, my countrymen, my loving

As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

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