ACT V.

Othello's Scene with Desdemona in the Bed-chamber before he kills her.

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. 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.

O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade

[Kissing her.

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.

Othello's Perplexity after the Murder.

Yes!-'tis Emilia :-by and by.

She's dead.

'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ; The noise was high.-Ha! no more moving?

Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good?
I think she stirs again :-No.-What's the best ?
If she come 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.

Othello's Love for Desdemona.

If heaven would make me such another world Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,*

I'd not have sold her for it.

Othello's Remorse.

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.

* A precious stone.

At our account hereafter

Othello's Speech before he Kills himself.

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 speak
Of one, that loved 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 subdu'd eyes,
Albeit unus'd 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.

Ludovico's Denunciation of Iago.

O Spartan dog,

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ;
This is thy work-the object poisons sight;
Let it be hid.-Gratiano, keep the house,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed to you.—To you, lord governor,
Remains the censure of this hellish villain;

The time, the place, the torture,-O enforce it!
Myself will straight aboard; and, to the state,
This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

A deadly feud exists between the noble families of Capulet and Montague, who reside in Verona. Romeo, son of Montague, and Juliet, daughter of Capulet, become violently enamoured with each other, and are privately married, unknown to their friends, by Laurence, a Franciscan friar. Shortly after their marriage, Tybalt, one of the Capulet faction, in a street brawl, kills Mercutio, and is himself killed by Romeo. For this Romeo is exiled by the Prince of Verona, and retires to Mantua. Capulet and his wife, ignorant of their daughter's marriage, have resolved to unite her to Paris, a young nobleman of Verona. To avoid this marriage, Juliet takes a drug provided for her by Friar Laurence, which produces a death-like lethargy. Her friends, supposing her to be dead, inter her in the tomb of the Capulets. It is intended by the friar that Romeo shall be advised of these events, so that he may be present when Juliet wakes, and take her away to Mantua. By an error, however, Romeo hears that Juliet is dead, on which he procures poison, and enters the monument in which she is entombed; here he meets Paris, who provokes him to fight, and is killed. Romeo then takes the poison. No sooner is he dead than Juliet wakes from her lethargy, and finding her husband dead by her side, stabs herself; and the play concludes with the reconciliation of the Capulets and Montagues.

ACT I.

The Prince of Verona's Charge to Capulet and Montague. REBELLIOUS subjects, enemies to peace,

Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—

Will they not hear?—what ho! you men, you beasts,—
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace to part your canker'd hate :
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away :

You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

Romeo's Melancholy.

Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from the city's side,-
So early walking did I see your son:

Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,—
That most are busied when they are most alone,—
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: