HAM/THELLO: the moor of denmark
                                                         copyright © 2006 Jeff Goode


           SCENE 3 - A room of state in the castle.
                  Enter KING OTHELLO, QUEEN DESDEMONA, HAMLET, Lords, and Attendants, and
                  OPHELIA the Queen's bodyguard.
           OTHELLO 
              Though yet of Hamlet our dear sovereign's death
              The memory be green, and that it us befitted 
              To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom 
              To be contracted in one brow of woe, 
              Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature 
              That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
              Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
              Therefore our sometime queen and, now our wife, 
              The imperial jointress to this warlike state, 
              Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,-- 
              With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, 
              Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd 
              Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
              With this affair along. For all, our thanks. 
              But now, lieutenant Hamlet, and my son,--
           HAMLET
              [Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind.
           OTHELLO 
              How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
           HAMLET
              Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.
           DESDEMONA 
              Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, 
                                           DESDEMONA gestures with a strawberry-spotted
                                            handkerchief which she carries with her always.
              And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
           OTHELLO 
              'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, 
              To give these mourning duties to your father: 
              But, now, good son, we pray you, throw to earth 
              This unprevailing woe, and think of us 
              As of a father: for let the world take note, 
              You are the most immediate to our throne; 
              And with no less nobility of love 
              Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
              Do I impart toward you. 
              And we beseech you, bend you to remain 
              Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
              Our chiefest courtier, captain, and our son.
           DESDEMONA 
              Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet: 
              I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
           HAMLET 
              [To OTHELLO] O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my mother? 
              Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; 
              For I'll refer me to all things of sense,
              If she in chains of magic were not bound,
              Whether a queen so loyal, fair and happy, 
              Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
              Run from her grievage to the sooty bosom 
              Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight.
              It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect
              Why this should be. I therefore vouch again
              That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,
              Or with some dram conjured to this effect,
              Thou wrought upon her.
           OTHELLO 
                                To vouch this, is no proof.
           DESDEMONA 
              Come, hold your peace.
           HAMLET 
                               'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace! 
              No, I will speak as liberal as the north: 
              Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, 
              All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
                                            Points to the portrait of the dead King hanging
                                                              above the throne
              This was your husband. Look you now, what follows: 
              Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, 
              Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
              Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
              And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? 
              So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
              Hyperion to a satyr;-- 
           DESDEMONA 
                                  Come, you're drunk.
           HAMLET
              A king of shreds and patches,-- Drunk!                    
           OTHELLO 
                                                     Be wise, 
              And get you home.
           HAMLET 
                                 I will not.  Let me go, sir,
              Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard.
           OTHELLO 
              I'll make thee an example.
           HAMLET 
                                    Do thy worst:
                                                OTHELLO threatens to strike HAMLET;
                                                   DESDEMONA comes between them
           DESDEMONA 
              Nay, good Othello;
              I pray you, sweet, hold your hand.
              [To HAMLET] For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl.
           OTHELLO 
              Hamlet, I love thee 
              But never more be officer of mine. 
              [To DESDEMONA] Come away. 
           DESDEMONA 
              [To HAMLET] We will have more of this to-morrow.
              Hamlet, good night: to-morrow with your earliest 
              Let me have speech with you. 
           HAMLET
              I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
           OTHELLO 
              [To DESDEMONA] Come, my dear love, 
              The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; 
              That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. 
              Good night. 
                                                          Exeunt all but HAMLET
           HAMLET
              O, that this too too solid flesh would melt 
              Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! 
              Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
              His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
              How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, 
              Seem to me all the uses of this world! 
              But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue. 
                                                                     Exit

Forth!