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Emilia, run you to the citadel,
A Bed-chamber: Defdemona is difcovered afleep in ber bed:
Enter Othello, with a Light and a Sword.
Tis the cause, it is the caufe, my foul; Let me not name it to you, you chafte Stars! It is the cause.Yet I'll not fhed her Blood, Nor fcar that whiter fkin of hers than fnow, And smooth as monumental alabaster.
[Lays down the fword. Yet fhe muft die; elfe fhe'll betray more men. 4 Put out the light, and, then-Put out the light? If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light reftore,
3 It is the caufe, it is the cause, my foul;
Let me not name it. -] The abruptnefs of this foliloquy makes it obfcure. The meaning I think is this. I am here, fays Othello in his mind, overwhelmed with horror. What is the reafon of this perturbation? Is it want of refolution to do juftice? Is it the dread of hedding blood? No; it is not the action that forks me, but it is the cause, it is the caufe, my foul; let me not name it to you, ye chafte ftars! it is the cause
4 Pút out the light, and then put out the light.] This, Į conceive, to have been the poet's meaning, Othello, ftruck in part with remorfe at the murder he's going to do, thinks it best to do it in the dark; this compunction of nature, in the hurry and perturbation of thought, and thofe remains of tenderness ftill combating in his bosom, ftrikes him into an inftant reflexion, that if he puts out the light he can rekindle it; but if he once puts out the light of her life, that will be extinguish'd for ever. Gg 4 While
Should I repent: but once put out thy light,
[Sets down the taper.
Oh balmy breath, that doft almost perfuade
Oth. Ay, Defdemona.
While he is bufied in this con-
Def. Will you come to bed, my Lord?
Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime
he breaks fhort, and questions
I wish these two lines could
Solicit for it straight.
Def. Alack, my Lord, What may you mean by that?
Oth. Well, do it, and be brief. I will walk by. I would not kill thy unprepared fpirit,
No, heavens forefend! I would not kill thy foul.
"Oth. Ay, I do.
Def. Then heaven have mercy on me!
Def. If you fay fo, I hope you will not kill me.
Def. And yet I fear you; for you're fatal then, When your eyes rowl fo. Why I fhould fear, I know
Since guilt I know not; yet, I feel, I fear.
Def. They're Loves I bear to you.
Def. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving.
Oth. Peace, and be ftill.
Def. I will fo. What's the matter?
Def. No, by my life and foul.
Oth. Sweet Soul, take heed, take heed of perjury; Thou art on thy death-bed..
thou gav't Caffio.
Send for the man,
Def. Ay, but not yet to die.
Therefore confefs thee freely of thy fin ;
For to deny each article with oath,
Cannot remove, nor choak the ftrong conception
That I do groan withal. Thou aft to die.
Def. And have you mercy too!-I never did
Oth. By heaven, I faw my handkerchief in's hand,
A murder, which I thought a facrifice. I faw the handkerchief.
Def. He found it then
I never gave it him. Send for him hither,
Oth. He hath confeft.
Def. He will not say so.
Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd. Honeft Iago hath ta'en order for 't.
Def. My fear interprets then. What, is he dead? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge Had ftomach for them all.
Def. Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone.
6 A muraer, which I thought
a facrifice] This line is difficult. Thou haft harden'd my heart, and makeft me kill thee with the rage of a murderer, when I thought to have facrificed thee to juftice with the calmness of prieft ftriking a victim.
It must not be omitted, that one of the elder quarto's reads, thou doft fone thy heart; which I
fufpect to be genuine,, The meaning then will be, thou forceft me to difmifs thee from the world in the ftate of the murdered without preparation for death, when I intended that thy punishment hould have been a facrifice attoning for thy crime.
I am glad that I have ended my revifal of this dreadful scene. It is not to be endured.
Oth. Out, ftrumpet! Weep'ft thou for him to my face?
Def. Oh banish me, my Lord, but kill me not.
Def. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.
Oth. Being done, there is no pause.
[He fmothers ber.
S CEN E VII,
Emilia, at the door.
Emil. My Lord, my Lord! What hoa! my Lord, my Lord!
Oth. What noife is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
I, that am cruel, am yet merciful;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
Emil. within.] What hoa! my Lord, my Lord! Oth. Who's there?
Emil. Oh, my good Lord, I would speak a word with you.
Oth. Yes, 'tis Æmilia.-By and by-She's dead. 'Tis like, fhe comes to speak of Caffio's death; The noife was high. Ha, no more moving? Still as the Grave. Shall the come in? Were't good? I think, fhe ftirs again. No. What's the best? If the come in, fhe'll, fure, speak to my wife? My wife! my wife! What wife? I have no wife. Oh infupportable! oh heavy hour! Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipfe