Othello by William Shakespeare (i love reading .txt) 📕
Description
Othello was written in 1603 and first performed in 1604. The underlying story is based on “A Moorish Captain,” one of the stories in Cinthio’s Gli Hecatommithi, written in 1565.
Othello is a Moorish black general in Venice, known for his military prowess. He elopes with Desdemona, a noble Venetian lady, who is the daughter of Brabantio, a senator. When Othello promotes Cassio to be his lieutenant over Iago, his ensign, the evil Iago gets his revenge by alleging an affair between Cassio and Desdemona, sowing doubt in the mind of Othello.
This Standard Ebooks production is based on William George Clark and William Aldis Wright’s 1887 Victoria edition, which is taken from the Globe edition.
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- Author: William Shakespeare
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And your unblest fate hies: strumpet, I come.
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;
Thy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted. Exit. Enter Lodovico and Gratiano. Cassio What, ho! no watch? no passage? murder! murder! Gratiano ’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful. Cassio O, help! Lodovico Hark! Roderigo O wretched villain! Lodovico
Two or three groan: it is a heavy night:
These may be counterfeits: let’s think’t unsafe
To come in to the cry without more help.
Iago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains!
Give me some help.
I think that one of them is hereabout,
And cannot make away.
O treacherous villains!
What are you there? come in, and give some help. To Lodovico and Gratiano.
Kill men i’ the dark!—Where be these bloody thieves?—
How silent is this town!—Ho! murder! murder!—
What may you be? are you of good or evil?
Marry, heaven forbid!
Light, gentlemen; I’ll bind it with my shirt.
O my dear Cassio! my sweet Cassio! O Cassio,
Cassio, Cassio!
O notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect
Who they should be that have thus many led you?
Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair,
To bear him easily hence!
Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
To be a party in this injury.
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no?
Alas my friend and my dear countryman
Roderigo! no:—yes, sure: O heaven! Roderigo.
Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon;
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners,
That so neglected you.
He, he ’tis he. A chair brought in. O, that’s well said; the chair!
Some good man bear him carefully from hence;
I’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. To Bianca. For you, mistress,
Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio,
Was my dear friend: what malice was between you?
To Bianca. What, look you pale? O, bear him out o’ the air. Cassio and Roderigo are borne off.
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, mistress?
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.
Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her:
Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak,
Though tongues were out of use.
Cassio hath here been set on in the dark
By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped:
He’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead.
This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supp’d to-night.
To Bianca. What, do you shake at that?
I am no strumpet; but of life as honest
As you that thus abuse me.
Kind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d.
Come, mistress, you must tell’s another tale.
Emilia run you to the citadel,
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d.
Will you go on? I pray. Aside. This is the night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite. Exeunt.
A bedchamber in the castle: Desdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.
Enter Othello. OthelloIt 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 thy light,
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 the rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again.
It must needs wither: I’ll smell it on the tree. Kissing her.
Ah balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
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. She wakes.
If you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.
Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:
I
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