That night, as Desdemona retired to rest, she was filled with sad thoughts and strange forebodings of ill; and as Emilia helped her to disrobe, she sang a low, plaintive song, which she declared had been sung to her mother on her death-bed, and which had haunted the unhappy lady all day. These were the words of the song:
"The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her moans,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;
Sing willow, willow, willow!"
When this sad ditty came to an end, Emilia left her mistress in bed; and the troubled Desdemona at length fell asleep.
Presently Othello entered the chamber with his sword in his hand, intending to kill her; but she looked so fair and tranquil as she slept that he could not bear to shed her blood, though he did not mean to go back from his resolve. He still loved her tenderly, in spite of the over-mastering jealousy which had eaten into his heart, and his firm belief that she had permitted Cassio to be her lover; and bending over the bed he kissed her sweet lips passionately, murmuring softly:
"O balmy breath, that doth 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 that's 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!"
The hot kisses of Othello awakened Desdemona, who was much startled at finding her husband bending over her with such a fierce look in his passionate eyes; nor was she reassured when Othello asked sternly:
"Have you prayed to-night, Desdemona?"
The poor lady assured him that she had offered up her prayers as usual, and asked him the meaning of such a strange question; and then Othello declared that it was his resolve to kill her, again fiercely denouncing her as untrue to her wifely vows.
It was in vain that the hapless Desdemona protested her innocence, and pleaded piteously for mercy; so firmly was Othello convinced of her perfidy, owing to the false insinuations of Iago, that nothing could now make him believe in her innocence, and in a paroxysm of jealous passion he seized the pillows and bed-coverings and pressed them over his victim until she was stifled.