Enter Desdemona, attended.
Look, if my gentle love be not rais’d up!
I’ll make thee an example.
DESDEMONA.
What’s the matter?
OTHELLO.
All’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed.
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.
Lead him off.
[Montano is led off.]
Iago, look with care about the town,
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life
To have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.
[Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio.]
IAGO.
What, are you hurt, lieutenant?
CASSIO.
Ay, past all surgery.
IAGO.
Marry, Heaven forbid!