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My Husband says she was false ?
Oth. He, Woman;
Æmil. If he say so, may his pernicious Soul
Oth. Hah ?
Æmil. Do thy worst :
Oth. Peace, you were best.
Æmil. Thou hast not half that Power to dome harm
Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Jago.
Æmil. Oh, are you come, Jago? You have done well; That Men must lay their Murthers on your Neck.
Gra. What is the matter?
Æmil. Disprove this Villain, if thou be'st a Man, He says thou toldst him that his Wife was false : I know thou didst not, thou’rt not fuch a Villain. Speak, for my Heart is full.
Jago. I told him what I thought; and told no more
Amil. But did you ever tell him, she was false?
Emil. You told a Lie, an odious damned Lie:
Fago. With Caffio, Mistress, go to, charm your Tongue.
All. Oh Heav'ns forefend !
Æmil. And your reports have set the Murther on.
Æmil. Villany! villany! villany!
Fago. 'What, are you mad ? I charge you, get you home.
Æmil, Good Gentlemen, let me have leave to speak; 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now : Perchance, Jago, I will ne'er go home.
Oth. Oh! oh! oh!
Æmil. Nay, lay thee down and roar :
Oth. Oh she was foul !
Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy Father's dead,
Oth. 'Tis pitiful, but yet Jago knows,
, Oh Heav'n! Oh heav'nly Powers ! Jago. Come, hold your peace.
Æmil. 'Twill out, 'twill out I peace! No, I will speak as liberal as the North,
Let Heav'n, and Men, and Devils, let them all,
Jago. Be wise and get you home.
[Jago offers to stab his Wife, Gra. Fie, your sword upon a Woman?
Æmil. Oh, thou dull Moor,
Æmil. She give it Cassio? Alas I found it,
Jago. Filth, thou lieft.
Æmil. By Heav'n I do not, I do not, Gentlemen: Oh murd'rous Coxcomb, what should such a Fool. Do with so good a Wife?
[Jago breaks through and wounds his Wife, then runs ont,
Oth. Are there no stones in Heav'n,
Gra. The Woman falls ; sure he hath killd bis Wife.
Mon. 'Tis a notorious Villain; take you this Weapon,
[Exit, Oth. I am not valiant neither But every Puny whipster gets my Sword. But why should Honour out-live Honesty? Let it go all.
Æmil. What did thy Song boad, Lady ? Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the Swan, And die in Mufick; Willow, Willow, Willow Moor, she was chast, she lov’d thee, cruel Moor, So come my Soul to Bliss, as I speak true ; Şo speaking as I think, alas, I die. [Æmilia Dies.
Oth. I have another Weapon in this Chamber, It was a Sword of Spain, the Ice brooks temper ; Oh here it is : Uncle, I must come forth.
Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear; Thou hast no Weapon, and perforce must suffer.
Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or naked as I am I will affault thee.
Gra. What is the matter?
Oth. Behold I have a Weapon : A better never did it self sustain Upon a Soldier's Thigh. I have seen the Day, That with this little Arm, and this good Sword, I have made my way through more impediments, Than twenty times your stop. But, oh vain Boaft! ! Who can controul his Fate ? 'Tis not so now. Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapon'd; Here is my Journey's end, here is my Butt, And very Sea-mark of my utmost Sail. Do you go back dismaid? 'Tis a loft Fear': Man but a rush against Othello's Breaft, And he retires. Where should Othello go? Now ---- how dost thou look now ? Oh ill-Itar'd Wench! Pale as thy Smock! When we shall meet at Compt, This look of thine will hurl my Soul from Heav'n, And Fiends will soatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girls Even like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slave ! Whip me, ye Devils, From the Poffefsion of this heav'nly light ; Blow me about in Winds, and roast me in Sulphur, Wash me in steep-down Gulfs of liquid Fire Oh Desdemona ! Dead, Desdemona! Dead, dead! Oh, oh! Enter Lodovico, Callio led in wounded, Montano, and
Jago Prisoner, with Officers. Lod. Where is this rash, and most unfortunate Man ? Oth. That's he that was Othello: Here I am. Lod. Where is that Viper ? bring the Villain forth.
Oth. I look down towards his Feet; but that's a Fable, If that thou beeft a Devil, I cannot kill thee.
[Othello wounds Jago. Lod. Wrench his Sword from him,
Jago. I bleed, Sir, but not killd.
Oth. I am not sorry neither, I'd have thee live;
Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that wast once so good,
Oth. Why any thing;
will : For bought I did hate, but all in Honour,
Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany : Did you
and he consent in Caffio's Death? Oth. Ay. Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Cause, Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your Pardon: you,
I pray, demand that Demy-Devil, Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soul and Body.
Fago. Demand me nothing, what you know, you know : From this time forth, I never will speak word.
Lod. What not to pray?
Lod. Sir you shall understand what hath befaln,
Oth. O Villain !
Lod. Now, here's another discontented Paper
Oth. O thou pernicious Caitiff !
Caf. I found it in my Chamber;