Imatges de pÓgina
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Amil. And your reports have set the Murther On.
Oih. Nay, stare not, Mafters, it is true indeed.
Gra. 'Tis a ftrange Truth,
Mon. Oh monstrous Aet.

Æmil. Villany! villany! villany!
I think upon't-- think I smelle----O villany!
I thought so then; I'll kill my self for Grief,
O 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, Fago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth. Oh! oh! oh!

Æmil. 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 !
I scarce did know you, Uncle; there lyes your Niece,
Whose Breath indeed, these Hands have newly stop'd;
I know this Ad (hews horrible and grim.

Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy Father's dead,
Thy match was mortal to him; and pure Grief
Shore his old thread in twaia. Did he live now,
This fight would make him do a desperate turn;
Yea, curse his better Angel from his side,
And fall to Reprobatior.

Óthe 'Tis pitiful, but yet Fago knows,
That she with Caffio hath the aở of Shame
A thousand times committed. Caffio confeft it,
And she did gratifie 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, ao antick Token
My Facher gave my Mother.

Amil. Oh Heay'n! Oh heav'nly Powers!
Fago. Come, hold your peace.

Amil. 'Twill out, twill out I peace!
No, I will speak as liberal as the North,

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Let Heav'n, and Men, and Devils, let them all,
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Fago. Be wise and get you home.
Emil. I will not.

[Jago offers to ftab bis Wife. Gra. Fie, 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 earnestness,
More than indeed belong'd to such a Trifle,
He begg'd of me, to steal it.

Fago. Villanous Whore!

Æmil. She give it Cassio Alas I found it,
And I did give't my Husband.
Fago: Filth, thou lielt.

Æmil By Havn I do not, I do not, Gentlemen i
Oh murd'rous Coxcomb, what thould such a Fool
Do with so good a Wife?

(Jago breaks through and wounds his Wife, then runs om.
Oth. Are there no stones in Heav'n,
But what serve for the Thunder? precious Villain !
Gra. The Woman falls; sure he hath kill'd his Wife.

Æmil. Ay, ay; Oh lay me by my Mistress fide, Gra. He's gone, but his Wife's kill'd.

Mon. 'Tis a notorious Villain; take you this Weapon, Which I have 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.

[Exit. Oth. I am not valiart 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 Músick; Willow, Willow, Willow-
Moor, she was cbaft, 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 Ice brooks temper; :: Oh here iç is: Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thée dear; Thou hast no Weapon, and perforce mult suffer.

Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or naked as I am I will assault thee,

Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. Behold I have a Weapon:
A betrer 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 Boast!
Who can controul his Fate: 'Tis nor so now.
Be not afraid, though you do see 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 dismay'da 'Tis a loft Fear:
Man but a Rush again it Othello's Breast,
And he retires. Where should Othello go?
Now-how doft thou look now? Oh ill-ftar'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 Girls
Even like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursid Slave!
Whip me, ye Devils,
From the Pofession of this heav'nly fight';
Blow me about in Winds, and roast me in Sulphur,
Wash me in steep-down Gulf of liquid Fire-
Oh Desdemona! Dead, Desdemona! Dead, dead! Oh, oh!
Enter Lodovico, Caffio led in wounded, Montano, and

Jago Prisoner, with Officers.
Lod. Where is this rath, 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 beest a Devil, I cannot kill thee.

[Othello wounds. Jago. Lod. Wrench his Sword from him.

Fago.

Jago. I bleed, Sir, but not killd.

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

Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that wast once so good,
Falo in the pra&ice of a cursed Slave,
What shall be said to thee?

Oth. Why any thing;
An Honourable Murtherer, if you will:
For nought I did in Hate, but all in Honour.

Lod. This wretch hath part confelt his Villany:
Did you and he consent in Caffio's Death?

oib. 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 ensnar'd my Soul and Body.

fago. Demand me mothing, 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.
Oih. Well, thou dost best.

Lod. Sir you shall understand what hath befaln,
Which as I think, you know not; here is a Letter,
Found in the Pocket of the sain Rodorigo,
And here another, the one of the imports
The Death of Callio, to be undertook
By Rodorigo.

Oth. O Villain!
Caf. Most heathenish, 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 Jago in the interim
Came in, and satisfy'd him.

Oth. O 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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Which wrought to his desire.

Oth. O Fool, Fool, Foo!!

Caf. There is besides, in Rodorigo's Letter,
How he upbraids Jago, that he made him
Brave me upon the Watch; whereon it came
That I was caft; and even now he fpake
After long seeming dead, Jago hurt him,
Jago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this room, and
Your Power and your Command is taken off,
And Caffio rules in Gyprus. For this Slave,
If there be any cunning Cruelty,
That can tormend him much, and hold him long,
It shall be his. You shall close Prisoner rest,
Till that the Nature of your Fault be known
To the Venetian State. Come, bring away.

Oth. Soft you; a word or two before you go.
I have done the State some Service, and they know't ;
No more of that. I pray you in your Letters,
When you shall these unlucky Deeds relate,
Speak of me, as I am. Nothing extenuate,
Nor set down ought in Malice.
Then must you speak,
Of one that lov'd not wisely, but too well ;
Ofone, not easily Jealous, but being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extream; of one, whose Hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a Pearl away
Richer than all his Tribe ; of one, whose subdu'd Eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop Tears as faft as the Arabian Trees
Their Medicinal Gum. Set you down this.
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a Malignant, and a Turband-Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the State,
I took by th' Throat the Circumcised Dog,
And (mote him, chus,

[Stabs himfólf Lod. Oh bloody Period! Gra. All that is spoke is marr’d.

Oth. I kist thee, e'er I kill'd thee: No way but this, Killing my self, to die upon a Kiss.

[Dies

. Car

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