Activity 11 Othello Act 5 sc. 2

OTHELLO.
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.

[Takes off his sword.]

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 thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again,
It must needs wither:--I'll smell it on the tree.--


Translation

My soul is the cause!
Don't make me tell it to you, you chaste star!
She is the cause, but I will not hurt her.
I will not scar her white skin.
The skin smooth like alabaster.

[Draws sword]

She must die, or else she'll cheat more men.
Turn off the light, and then kill her.
If I stop her from controlling me,
I can be happy again.
Will I regret? Once I have end her life?
Her cunning pattern of superior nature,
I do not know where the evil lies.
Their will once again be happiness, once I have end her life.
I cannot share good moments with her no more.
She has to die... I smell it on her.