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My Husband says she was false ?

Oth. He, Woman;
I say thy Husband; do'st understand the word?
My Friend, thy Husband, honest, honest Jago.

Æmil. If he say so, may his pernicious Soul
Rot half a grain a Day; he lies to th' Heart,
She was too fond of her most filthy Bargain.

Oth. Hah ?

Æmil. Do thy worst :
This Deed of thine is no more worthy Heav'n,
Than thou waft worthy her.

Oth. Peace, you were best.

Æmil. Thou hast not half that Power to dome harm
As I have to be hurt, Oh Gull ! oh Dolt !
As ignorant as Dirt ; thou hast done a deed
I care not for thy Sword, I'll make thee known,
Though I lost twenty Lives---Help! help! hoa! help!
The Meor hath killd my Mistress. Murther,murther!

Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Jago.
Mon. What is the matter? How now, General ?

Æmil. Oh, are you come, Jago? You have done well; That Men must lay their Murthers 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 fuch a Villain. Speak, for my Heart is full.

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

Amil. But did you ever tell him, she was false?
Jago. I did.

Emil. You told a Lie, an odious damned Lie:
Upon my Soul a Lie ; a wicked Lie.
She false with Casio ? did you say with Caffio ?

Fago. With Caffio, Mistress, go to, charm your Tongue.
Æmil. I will not charm my Tongue ; I am bound

to speak,
My Mistress here lies murthered in her Bed.

All. Oh Heav'ns forefend !

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Æmil. And your reports have set the Murther on.
Oth. Nay, stare not, Masters, it is true indeed.
Gra. 'Tis a strange Truth.
Mon. Oh monstrous A&.

Æmil. Villany! villany! villany!
I think upon't ----I think ---- I smell’t -- 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, Jago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth. Oh! oh! oh!

Æmil. Nay, lay thee down and roar :
For thou hast kili'd the sweetest Innocent,
That e'er did lift up eye. .

Oth. Oh she was foul !
I scarce did know you, Uncle; there lyes your Niece,
Whose Breath indeed, these Hands have newly stop'd;
I know this A& fhews 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 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.

Oihe 'Tis pitiful, but yet Jago knows,
That she with Casio hath the act of Shame
A thousand times committed. Caffio confeft it,
And Me 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 a Handkerchief, an antick Token
My Father gave my Mother. .

. Oh Heav'o! Oh heav'nly Powers ! Jago. Come, hold your peace.

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


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

Jago. Be wise and get you home.
Æmil. I will not.

[Jago offers to stab his 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.
Jago. Villanous Whore !

Æmil. She give it Cassio? Alas I found it,
And I did give't my Husband,

Jago. 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?

[Jago breaks through and wounds his Wife, then runs ont,

Oth. Are there no stones in Heav'n,
But what serve for the Thunder ? .precious Villain !

Gra. The Woman falls ; sure he hath killd bis Wife.
Æmil. Ay, ay; Oh lay me by 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 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 boad, Lady ? Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the Swan, And die in Mufick; Willow, Willow, Willow Moor, she was chast, she lov’d thee, cruel Moor, So come my Soul to Bliss, as I speak true ; Şo speaking as I think, alas, I die. [Æmilia Dies.

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Oth. I have another Weapon in this Chamber, It was a Sword of Spain, the Ice brooks temper ; Oh here it is : Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. 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 affault thee.

Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. Behold I have a Weapon : A better 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 Boaft! ! Who can controul his Fate ? 'Tis not so now. Be not afraid, though you do fee 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 dismaid? 'Tis a loft Fear': Man but a rush against Othello's Breaft, And he retires. Where should Othello go? Now ---- how dost thou look now ? Oh ill-Itar'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 soatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girls Even like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slave ! Whip me, ye Devils, From the Poffefsion of this heav'nly light ; Blow me about in Winds, and roast me in Sulphur, Wash me in steep-down Gulfs of liquid Fire Oh Desdemona ! Dead, Desdemona! Dead, dead! Oh, oh! Enter Lodovico, Callio led in wounded, Montano, and

Jago 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 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,



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,
Faln in the Pradice of a cursed Slave,
What shall be said to thee ?

Oth. Why any thing;
An Honourable Murtherer, if you

will : For bought I did hate, but all in Honour,

Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany : Did you

and he consent in Caffio's Death? Oth. Ay. Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Cause, Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your Pardon: you,

I pray, demand that Demy-Devil, Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soul and Body.

Fago. Demand me nothing, what you know, you know : From this time forth, I never will speak word.

Lod. What not to pray?
Gra. Tormenes will ope your Lips.
Oth. 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 Alain Rodorigo,
And here another, the one of them imports
The Death of Casio, to be undertook
By Rodorigo.

Oth. O Villain !
Cas. 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,
Thar, there he drope it for a special purpose

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