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That men must lay their murders 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 such a villain. Speak, for my heart is full.

Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no more, Than what he found himself was apt and true.

Æmil. But did you ever tell him, she was false?
Iago. I did.

#mil. You told a lie ; an odious, damned, lie : Upon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie. She falle with Caffio? did you say, with Caffio ? lago. With Casio, mistress ; go to, charm your

tongue. Æmil. I will not charm my tongue; I'm bound to

speak;
My mistress lies here murder'd in her bed.

All. Oh heav'ns forefend !
Æmil. And your reports have set the murder on.
Oth. Nay, ftare not, masters ; it is true, indeed.
Gra. 'Tis a strange truth.
Mont. Oh monstrous act !

Æmil. Villany! villany! villany!
I think upon't-I think I smell't-Oh villany!
I thought so then; I'll kill myself for grief ; -
Oh villany, villany!
lago. 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, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth. Oh ! oh! oh! (Othello falls on the bed.

Emil, Nay, lay thee down and roar:
For thou hast kill'd the sweetest Innocent,
That e'er did lift up eye.
Oth. Oh, she was foul !

[Rising I scarce did know you, Uncle ; there lies your Niece,

Whole

Whofe breath, indeed, these hands have newly stop'd;
I know, this act shews horrible and grim.

Gra. Poor Disdemona ! I'm glad thy father's dead :
Thy match was mortal to him ; and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now,
This fight would make him do a desperate turn;
Yea, curse his better Angel from his side,
And fall to reprobation.

Oth. 'Tis pitiful ; but yet Iago knows,
That she with Caffro had the act of shame
A thousand times committed. Caffio confelt it;
And she did gratify his amorous works,
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand;
It was an handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

Æmil. Oh heav'n! oh heav'nly Powers !
lago. Come hold your peace.

Æmil. '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,
All, all cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

lago: Be wise, and get you home.
Æmil. I will not. [Iago offers to stab his wife.
Gra. Fie, your

sword

upon a woman?
Æmil. O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief, thou

speak'st of,
I found by fortune, and did give my husband ;
For often, with a folemn earnestnefs,
(More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle)
He begg'd of me to steal it.
Iago. Villanous whore !

Æmil. She give it Caffio ? alas, I found it,
And I did give't my husband.

Iago. 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?

lago

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Iago breaks through and wounds his wife, then runs out.

Oth. Are there no stones in heav'n ? For what then serves the thunder? precious villain !

Gra. The woman falls ; sure he has kill'd his wise. Æmil. Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' side. Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

Mont. 'Tis a notorious villain; take this weapon, Which I have here recover'd from the Moor : Come guard the door without, let him not pass, But kill him rather ; I'll after that same villain, For 'tis a damned slave. Exeunt Mont. and Gra.

S CE N E IX.

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 bode, lady?
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in music; Willow, Willow, Willow
Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor;
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ;
So speaking as I think, alas, I die. [Æmilia dies.

Oih. I have another weapon in this chamber, It was a sword of Spain, the Ebro's temper; Oh, here it is: Uncle, I must come forth. Gra. within.] 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 assault thee.

Re-enter Gratiano. Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. I.o! I have a weapon : A better never did itself sustain

Upon

Upon a soldier's thigh. I've seen the day,
That with this little arm, and this good sword,
I've made my way thro' more impediments,
Than twenty times your stop. But, oh vain boast !
Who can controul his fatę?" 'tis not so now.
Be not afraid, tho' you do see me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my Butt,
The very fea-mark of my utmost fail.
Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a loft fear :
Man but a rush against Othello's breaft,
And he retires. Where fhould Othello go?
Nowhow dost thou look now? oh ill-ftarr'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 snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girl,
Ev'n like thy chastity. O cursed llave !
Whip me, ye Devils,
From the possession of this heav'nly fight;
Blow me about in winds, roast me in fulphur,
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire-
Oh Desdemona! Desdemona! dead, dead! oh, oh!

S CE N E X. Enter Lodovico, Caffio led in wounded, Montano, and

Iago prisoner, with Officers. Lod. HERE is this rash and most unfortu

nate man? Oth. That's he, that was Othello : here I am. Lod. Where is that viper ? bring the villain forth.

Oth. I look down tow'rds his feet; but That's a fable. If that thou be'st a Devil, I cannot kill thee,

[Othello wounds lago. Lod. Wrench his sword from him. Iago. I bleed, Sir, but not kill'd.

Oth. I am not sorry, neither : I'd have thee live ; For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod.

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Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that wast once so good,
Fall’n in the practice of a cursed llave,
What shall be said to thee?

Oth. Why, any thing;
An honourable murd'rer, if you will :
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.

Lod. This wretch hath part confeft his villany:
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?

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Oth. Ay.

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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 ensnar'd my soul and body?
lago. Demand me nothing; what you know, you

know;
From this time forth I never will speak word.

Lod. What? not to pray ?
Gra. Torments will ope your lips.
Oth. Well, thou dost beft.

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall’n,
Which, as I think, you know not; here's a letter,
Found in the pocket of the slain Rodorigo,
And here, another ; one of them imports
The death of Caffio to be undertook
By Rodorigo.

Oih. Oh villain !
Caf. Most heathenila and most gross !

Lod. Now, here's another discontented paper,
Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems,
Rodorigo meant t' have sent this damned villain;
But that, belike, Iago in the interim
Came in and satisfy'd him.

Oih. Oh thou pernicious caitiff !
How came you, Caffio, by that handkerchief
That was my wife's ?

Caf. I found it in my chamber;
And he himself confest it but even now,
That there he dropt it for a special purpose,

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