Amil. And your reports have fet the Murther oA. Emil. Villany! villany! villany! I think upon't--I think---I fmell't--- villany! Fago. What, are you mad? I charge you get you home. Emil. Good Gentlemen, let me have leave to fpeak; 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now: Perchance, Jago, I will ne'er go home. Oth. Oh! oh! oh! Amil. Nay, lay thee down and roar : For thou haft kill'd the fweeteft Innocent, That e'er did lift up eye. Oth. Oh fhe was foul! I fcarce did know you, Uncle; there lyes your Niece, Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy Father's dead, Oth. 'Tis pitiful, but yet Fago knows, Amil. Oh Heav'n! Oh heav'nly Powers! Amil. 'Twill out, 'twill out-I peace! Let Let Heav'n, and Men, and Devils, let them all, home. [Jago offers to ftab his Wife. Gra. Fie, your Sword upon a Woman? That Handkerchief thou speak'st of I found by Fortune, and did give my Husband; More than indeed belong'd to fuch a Trifle, Fago. Villanous Whore! Emil. She give it Caffio? Alas I found it, And I did give't my Husband. Fago: Filth, thou lieft. Amil By Heav'n I do not, I do not, Gentlemen Oh murd❜rous Coxcomb, what should fuch a Fool Do with fo good a Wife? [Jago 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 you this Weapon, Which I have recover'd from the Moor: Come, guard the Door without, let him not pafs. But kill him rather; I'll after that fame Villain, For 'tis a damned Slave. Oth. I am not valiant neither; But every Puny whipfter gets my Sword. Emil. What did thy Song boad, Lady? [Exit, [Æmilia Dies. Oth. Oth. I have another Weapon in this Chamber, Gra. If thou attempt it, it will coft thee dear; Oth. Behold I have a Weapon: A better never did it self fuftain Upon a Soldier's Thigh. I have seen the Day, Now-how doft thou look now? Oh ill-ftar'd Wench! From the Poffeffion of this heav'nly fight; Blow me about in Winds, and roaft me in Sulphur, Oh Desdemona! Dead, Desdemona! Dead, dead! Oh, oh! Lod. Where is this rafh, and moft unfortunate Man? Oth. That's he that was Othella: Here I am. Led. Where is that Viper? bring the Villain forth. Oth. I look down towards his Feet; but that's a Fable, If that thou beeft a Devil, I cannot kill thee. [Othello wounds Jago. Lod. Wrench his Sword from him. Fago. Jago. I bleed, Sir, but not kill'd. Oth. I am not forry neither, I'd have thee live; For in my Senfe, 'tis happiness to die. Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that waft once fo good, Falo in the practice of a curfed Slave, Oth. Why any thing; An Honourable Murtherer, if you will: 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 Soul and Body. Jago. Demand me nothing, what you know, you know; From this time forth I never will fpeak word. Lod. What? not to pray! Gra. Torments will ope your Lips. Oth. Well, thou doft beft. Led. Sir you fhall underftand what hath befaln, And here another, the one of them imports By Roderigo. Oth. O Villain! Caf. Moft heathenish, and moft grofs. Lod. Now, here's another difcontented Paper Found in his Pocket too; and this it seems Rodorigo meant t' have fent this damned Villain; But that belike Jago in the interim Came in, and fatisfy'd him. Oth. O thou pernicious Caitiff! How came you, Caffio, by that Handkerchief Caf. I found it in my Chamber; And he himself confeft it but even now, Which wrought to his defire. Oth. O Fool, Fool, Fool! Caf. There is befides, in Rodorigo's Letter, Lod. You muft forfake this room, and go with us; If there be any cunning Cruelty, That can torment him much, and hold him long, Oth. Soft you; a word or two before you go. I have done the State fome Service, and they know't; Of one that lov'd not wifely, but too well; Richer than all his Tribe; of one, whofe fubdu'd Eyes, Drop Tears as faft as the Arabian Trees Their Medicinal Gum. Set you down this. Where a Malignant, and a Turband-Turk I took by th' Throat the Circumcifed Dog, And fmote him, thus. Lod. Oh bloody Period! Gra. All that is fpoke is marr'd. [Stabs himself. Oth. I kift thee, e'er I kill'd thee: No way but this, Killing my felf, to die upon a Kifs. [Dies. Caf. |