Sämtliche Werke von Shakespeare in einem Band: Zweisprachige Ausgabe (Deutsch-Englisch). William Shakespeare

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      SCENE VIII

       Table of Contents

      Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.

      [Enter Othello and Emilia.]

      OTHELLO

       You have seen nothing, then?

      EMILIA

       Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

      OTHELLO

       Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together.

      EMILIA

       But then I saw no harm, and then I heard

       Each syllable that breath made up between them.

      OTHELLO

       What, did they never whisper?

      EMILIA

       Never, my lord.

      OTHELLO

       Nor send you out o’ the way?

      EMILIA

       Never.

      OTHELLO

       To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

      EMILIA

       Never, my lord.

      OTHELLO

       That’s strange.

      EMILIA

       I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,

       Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,

       Remove your thought,—it doth abuse your bosom.

       If any wretch have put this in your head,

       Let heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse!

       For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,

       There’s no man happy; the purest of their wives

       Is foul as slander.

      OTHELLO

       Bid her come hither.—Go.

       [Exit Emilia.]

       She says enough; yet she’s a simple bawd

       That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,

       A closet-lock-and-key of villainous secrets:

       And yet she’ll kneel and pray; I have seen her do’t.

       German

      SCENE IX

       Table of Contents

      [Enter Emilia with Desdemona.]

      DESDEMONA

       My lord, what is your will?

      OTHELLO

       Pray, chuck, come hither.

      DESDEMONA

       What is your pleasure?

      OTHELLO

       Let me see your eyes;

       Look in my face.

      DESDEMONA

       What horrible fancy’s this?

      OTHELLO

       [To Emilia.] Some of your function, mistress,

       Leave procreants alone and shut the door;

       Cough, or cry hem, if anybody come.

       Your mystery, your mystery;—nay, despatch.

      [Exit Emilia.]

      DESDEMONA

       Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?

       I understand a fury in your words,

       But not the words.

      OTHELLO

       Why, what art thou?

      DESDEMONA

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

      OTHELLO

       Come, swear it, damn thyself;

       Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves

       Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double-damn’d.—

       Swear thou art honest.

      DESDEMONA

       Heaven doth truly know it.

      OTHELLO

       Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

      DESDEMONA

       To whom, my lord? with whom? how am I false?

      OTHELLO

       O Desdemona!—away! away! away!

      DESDEMONA

       Alas the heavy day!—Why do you weep?

       Am I the motive of these tears, my lord?

       If haply you my father do suspect

       An instrument of this your calling back,

       Lay not your blame on me: if you have lost him,

       Why, I have lost him too.

      OTHELLO

       Had it pleas’d heaven

       To try me with affliction; had they 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 place of my soul

       A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me

       A fixèd figure for the time, for scorn

       To point his slow unmoving finger at!—

       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 there,

       Patience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,—

       Ay, there, look grim as hell!

      DESDEMONA

       I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.

      OTHELLO

       O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles,

       That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,

       Who art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet,

       That the sense aches at thee,—would thou hadst ne’er been born!

      DESDEMONA

       Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

      OTHELLO

       Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,

       Made to write “whore” upon? What committed!

       Committed!—O thou public commoner!

      


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