If heav'n would make me such another world,
Of one entire and perfect Chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.

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;
I say, thy husband ; do'st understand the word ?
My friend, thy husband, honeft, honeft lago.

Æmil. If he says so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to th' heart.
She was too fond of her moft filthy bargain.

Oth. Hah!

Æmil. Do thy worst:
This deed of thine is no more worthy heav'n,
Than thou wast worthy her.

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 :
Upon my soul, a lye ; a wicked lye.
She falfe with Caffio ? did you say, with Caffo ?

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

Æmil. Villainy! villainy! villainy!
I think upon't-I think-I smell't-Oh villainy!
I thought so then ; I'll kill myself for grief;-
Oh 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 :
For thou haft kill'd the sweetest innocent,
That e'er did lift up eye.
Oth. Oh, the was foul!

[Rifing. I scarce did know

you,
uncle;
there lies

your

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:
'I'hy 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 desp?rate turn;
Yea, curse his better angel from his fide,
And fall to reprobation.

Oth. "Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows,
That she with Cassio had the act of shame
A thousand times committed. Caffio confeft it;

And

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!
Iago. Come, hold your peace.

Àmil., '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.

Iago. Be wise, and get you home.
Æmil. I will not. [Iago offers to stab his wife.
Gra. Fy, your sword upon a woman?
Æmil. Oh, thou dull Moor! that handkerchief, thou

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

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

runs out.
Oth. Are there no stones in heav'n,
But what serve for the thunder precious villain !

Gra. The woman falls ; fure, he has kill'd his wife.
Æmil

. Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' side,
Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

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.

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, can'lt thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in musick; 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.

Oth. 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. 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

Blow me about in winds, roast me in fulphur,
Wash me in fteep-down gulphs of liquid fire
Oh Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead, dead! oh, oh!
Eater Lodovico, Caffio led in wounded, Montano, and

Iago 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 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,
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 confest his villainy:
Did you and he consent in Casio's death?

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 en nar'd my foul and body?

Iago. 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 doft best.
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.
VOL. VIII.

р

Oth.