DESDEMONA.
Will you come to bed, my lord?
OTHELLO.
Have you pray’d tonight, Desdemona?
DESDEMONA.
Ay, my lord.
OTHELLO.
If you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,
Solicit for it straight.
DESDEMONA.
Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that?
OTHELLO.
Well, do it, and be brief, I will walk by.
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit,
No, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.
DESDEMONA.
Talk you of killing?
OTHELLO.
Ay, I do.
DESDEMONA.
Then heaven have mercy on me!
OTHELLO.
Amen, with all my heart!