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.

Othello stands over the sleeping Desdemona, grappling with his internal conflict before he murders her. He contemplates her beauty and the finality of death, convincing himself that her execution is a necessary act of justice.
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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.
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