Rot half a grain a day! he lyes to th' heart. Oth. Hah! Emil. Do thy worst: This deed of thine is no more worthy heav'n, Than thou waft worthy her. Oth. Peace, you were best. Emil. Thou haft not half that power to do me harm, As I have to be hurt: oh gull! oh dolt! As ignorant as dirt! thou'ft done a deed I care not for thy fword, I'll make thee known, help! Help! help, hoa ! The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murther, murther! Enter Montano, Gratiane, Iago, and others. Mon. What is the matter? how now, General ? Emil. Oh, are you come, Iago? you have done well, That men must lay their murthers on your neck. Emil. Difprove this villain, if thou be'ft a man ; Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no more, Than what he found himself was apt and true. Emil But did you ever tell him, fhe was falfe? Emil. You told a lye; an odious, damned, lye: : Upon my foul, a lye; a wicked lye. She falfe with Caho? did you fay, with Caffio? Jago. With Caffio, mitrefs; go to, charm your tongue. Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I'm bound to speak; My mistress lies here murther'd in her bed, All. Oh heavens forefend ! Emil. And your reports have fet the murther on. Oth. Oth. Nay, ftare not, masters; it is true, indeed, Mon. Oh monftrous act! Emil. Villany! villany! villany! I think upon't-I think-I fmell't-Oh villany! Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home. Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak; 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now: Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. [Othello falls on the bed. Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar : For thou haft kill'd the sweetest Innocent, That e'er did lift up eye. Oth. Oh, fhe was foul! [Rifing. I fcarce did know you, Uncle; there lies your Niece, Whofe breath, indeed, thefe hands have newly ftop'd; I know, this act fhews horrible and grim. Gra. Poor Defdemona ! I'm glad, thy father's dead: Oth. 'Tis pitiful; but yet lago knows, Emil. Oh heav'n! oh heav'nly Powers! Amil. 'Twill out, 'twill out-I, peace! No, I will speak as liberal as the air; Let heav'n, and men, and devils, let them all, lago. lago. Be wife, and get you home. Emil. I will not. [Lago offers to ftab his wife. Gra. Fie, your fword upon a woman? Emil. Oh, thou dull Moor! that handkerchief, thou fpeak'st of, I found by fortune, and did give my husband; (More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) lago. Villanous whore! Emil. She give it Caffio? alas, I found it, And I did giv't my husband. Iago. Filth, thou lieft. Emil. By heav'n, I do not; I do not, gentlemen: Oh murd'rous coxcomb! what fhould fuch a fool Do with fo good a wife? Iago breaks through and wounds his wife, then runs out. Oth. Are there no ftones in heav'n, But what serve for the thunder? precious villain! Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain; take this weapon, [Exeunt Mon, and Gra, Oth. I am not valiant neither; Emil. What did thy Song boad, lady? Hark, can't thou hear me? I will play the fwan, [Æmilia dies. Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber, Р It It was a fword of Spain, the Ebro's temper; Gra. within.] If thou attempt it, it will coft thee Thou haft no weapon, and perforce must fuffer. Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or, naked as I am, I will affault thee. Re-enter Gratiano. Gra. What is the matter? Oth. Lo! I have a weapon: Upon a foldier's thigh. I've feen the day, Wench! how doft thou look now? oh ill-ftarr'd Pale as thy fmock! When we fhall meet at compt, Whip me, ye Devils, From the poffeffion of this heav'nly fight; · Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire Oh Desdemona! Defdemona! dead, dead! oh, oh! Lod. Where is this rafh and most unfortunate man? Oth. Oth. I look down tow'rds his feet; but That's a fable. If that thou beeft a Devil, I cannot kill thee. [Othello wounds Iago. Lod. Wrench his fword from him. lago. I bleed, Sir, but not kill'd. Oth. I am not forry, neither: I'd have thee live; For, in my fenfe, 'tis happiness to die. Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that waft once so good, Oth. Why, any thing; An honourable murth'rer, if you will: Oth. Ay. Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Cause. Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon: Will you, I pray, demand that demy-devil, Why he hath thus enfnar'd my foul and body? Iago. Demand me nothing; what you know, you know; From this time forth I never will speak word. Gra. Torments will ope your lips. Oth. Well, thou dost best. Lod. Sir, you fhall understand what hath befal'n, And, here, another; one of them imports By Rodorigo. Oth. Oh villain! Caf. Moft heathenifh and moft grofs! Lod. Now, here's another discontented paper, Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems, Rodorigo meant t'have fent this damned villain; But that, belike, Iago in the interim Came in and fatisfy'd him. P 2 Oth |