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If heav'n would make me such another world,
Æmil. My husband !
Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first; An honest man he is, and hates the slime That sticks on filthy deeds.
Æmil. My husband !
Oth. What needs this iteration, woman? I say, thy husband.
Æmil. Oh mistress! villainy has made mocks with love, My husband say, she was false !
Oth. He, woman;
Æmil. If he says so, may his pernicious soul
Æmil. Do thy worst:
Oth. Peace, you were beit.
Æmil. Thou hast not half that power to do me harm, As I have to be hurt: oh gull! oh dolt! As ignorant as dirt! thou’it done a deed I care not for thy sword, I'll make thee known, Though I loit twenty lives-Help! help, hoa! help! The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murder, murder!
Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others. Mon. What is the matter how now, General ? Æmil. Oh, are you come, Iago ? you have done well, That men must lay their murders on your neck.
Gra. What is the matter?
Æmil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'ft a man ; He says, thou toldft him that his wife was false : I know, thou didst not; thou’rt not such a villain. Speak, for my heart is full, .
lage. lago. I did.
lago. 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?
À mil. You told a lye ; an odious, damned, lye :
Iago. 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 heavens forefend !
Æmil. Villainy! villainy! villainy!
Iago. 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, lago, I will ne'er go home.
Oth. Oh! Oh! oh! [Othello falls on the bed.
Æmil. Nay, lay thee down and roar :
[Rifing. I scarce did know
niece, Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp’d; I know, this act shews horrible and grim.
Gra. Poor Desdemona ? I'm glad, thy father's dead:
Oth. "Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows,
And she did gratify his amorous works,
Àmil., 'Twill out,' 'twill out-I, peace!
Iago. Be wise, and get you home.
lago. Villainous whore !
Æmil. She give it Caffio ? alas, I found it, And I did giv't my husband.
lago. Filth, thou liest.
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? [Iago breaks through and wounds his wife, then
Gra. The woman falls ; fure, he has kill'd his wife.
. Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' side,
Mon. 'Tis à 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 flave. [Exeunt Mon. and Gra.
Oth. I am not valiant neither ;
Æmil. What did thy song bode, lady?
Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber,
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. Lo! I have a weapon: A better never did itself sustain 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 controll his fate ? 'tis not so now. Be not afraid, tho' you do fee me weapon'd; Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, The very sea-mark of my utmost fait. Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a loft fear: Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires. Where should Othello go? Now how dost thou look now? oh ill-starr'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 slave! Whip me, ye devils, From the posielïion of this heav'nly fight;
Blow me about in winds, roast me in fulphur,
Iago prisoner, with Officers.
Oth. I look down tow'rds his feet; but that's a fable. If that thou be'ft a devil, I cannot kill thee.
[Othello wounds Iago. Lod.' Wrench his sword from him. lago. I bleed, Sir, but not kill'd.
Oth. I am not sorry, neither : I'd have thee live i For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.
Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that wast once so good,
Oth. Why, any thing ;
Lod. This wretch hath part confest his villainy:
Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon :
Iago. Demand me nothing; what you know, you know; From this time forth I never will speak word.
Lod. What? not to pray?