ACT V.

V. SCENE I.

SCENE The Street.

Enter Jago, and Rodorigo.

Fago. HERE, ftand behind this Bulk. Straight will he

come:

Wear thy good Rapier bare, and put it home;
Quick, quick, fear nothing; I'll be at thy Elbow,
It makes us, or it mars us, think on that,
And fix moft firm thy Refolution.

Rod. Be near at Hand, I may miscarry in'.
Fage. Here, at thy hand; behold, and take thy stand.
Rod. I have no great Devotion to the Deed,
And yet he hath given me fatisfying Reafons;
'Tis but a Man gone. Forth my Sword; he dies.
Jago. I have rub'd this young Quat almoft to the fenfe,
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Caffio,
Or Caffio him, or each do kill the other,

Every way makes my Gain. Live Roderigo,

He calls me to a reftitution large

Of Gold, and Jewels, that I bob'd from him,
As Gifts to Desdemona.

It must not be. If Caffio do remain,

He hath a daily Beauty in his Life,

That makes me ugly; and befides the Moor

May unfold me to him; there ftand I in much Peril;
No, he muft die. But fo, I hear him coming. [Exit Jago.
Enter Caffio.

Rod. I know his Gate; 'tis he: Villain thou dyeft.
[He runs at Caffio, and wounds him.

Caf. That thruft had been mine Enemy indeed,

But that my Coat is better than thou know'ft:

I will make proof of thine.

Rod. Oh, I am flain.

Caf. I am maim'd for ever; Help hoa! Murther, murther!

[Fight, and both fall.

Enter

Enter O.hello above at a Window.

Oth. The Voice of Caffio, Faso keeps his word.
Rod. O Villain that I am!

Oth. It is even fo.

Caf. Oh help ho! Light! A Surgeon!

Oth. 'Tis he! O brave Jago, honeft and juft, That haft fuch noble Senfe of thy Friend's Wrong, Thou teacheft me. Minion, your Dear lies dead, And your unbleft Fate highes. Strumpet I come: For off my Heart, thofe Charms thine Eyes, are blotted. Thy Bed luft-ftain'd, fhall with Luft's blood be fpotted. [Exit Othello.

Enter Lodovico, and Gratiano. Caf. What ho! No Watch ? No Paffage ? Murther, Mur ther!

Gra. 'Tis fome Mifchance, the Voice is very direful. Caf. Oh help!

Lod. Hark!

Rod. Oh wretched Villain!

Lod. Two or three groan. 'Tis heavy Night;
These may be Counterfeits: Let's think't unfafe
To come into the Cry, without more help.
Rod. No body come: Then fhall I bleed to death.
Enter Jago, in his Shirt.

Lod. Hark.

Gra. Here's one comes in his Shirt, with Light, and Wea

pons.

Fago. Who's there?

Whofe Noife is this that cries out Murther?

Lod. We do not know.

Jago. Do not you hear a Cry?

Caf Here, here: For Heav'n fake help me,

Fago. What's the matter?

Gra. This is Othello's Ancient, as I take it.
Lod. The fame indeed, a very valiant Fellow.
Jago. What are you here, that cry fo grievously?
Caf. Fago? Oh I am spoil'd, undone by Villains!;
Give me fome Help.

Fago. O me, Lieutenant !

What Villains have done this?
VOL. V.

Caf

1

Caf. I think that one of them is hereabout, And cannot make away.

Jago. Oh treacherous Villains!

What are you there? Come in, and give fome help.

Rod. O help me there.

Caf. That's one of them.

Jago. Oh murd'rous Slave ! O Villain!

[Jago ftabs him. Rod. O damn'd Jago! O inhuman Dog!

Jago. Kill Men i'th' dark? Where be the fe bloody

Thieves!

How filent is this Town? Ho, Murther! Murther!

What may you be ! Are you of Good or Evil?

Rod. As you fhall prove us, praise us.

Jago. Signior Lodovico.

Lod. He, Sir.

Jago. I cry you mercy! here's Caffio hurt by Villains.
Gra. Caffio?

Fago. How is't, Brother?

Caf. My Leg is cut in two.

Jago. Marry Heav'n forbid :

Light Gentlemen, I'll bind it with my Shirt.

Enter Bianca.

Bian. What is the Matter hoa? Who is't that cry'd?

Jago. Who is't that cry'd?

Bian. Oh my dear Caffio,

My fweet Caffio: Oh Caffio, Caffio, Caffio.

Jago. O notable Strumpet.

Caffio, may you suspect

Who they should be, that have thus mangled you?
Caf. No.

Gra. I am forry to find you thus:

I have been to feek you.

Jago. Lend me a Garter. So-Oh for a Chair

To bear him easily hence.

Bian. Alas he faints. Oh Caffio, Caffio, Caffio.
Jago. Gentlemen all, I do fufpect this Trash
To be a Party in this Injury.

Patience a while, good Caffio, come, come:
Lend me a Light: Know we this Face, or no?
Alas, my Friend, and my dear Country-man
'Rodorigo? No Yes fure: Yea, 'tis Roderige.
Gra. What, of Venice ?

Fage

Fago. Even he, Sir: did you know him?
Gra. Know him? Ah!

Fago. Signior Gratiano? I cry your gentle Pardon:
Thefe bloody Accidents muft excufe my Manners,
That fo neglected you.

Gra. I am glad to fee you.

Jago. How do you, Caffio? Oh a Chair, a Chair.
Gra. Rodorigo?

Jago. He, he, 'tis he: Oh that's well faid, the Chair. Some good Man bear him carefully from hence,

I'll fetch the General's Surgeon. For you, Mistress,
Save you your Labour. He that lyes flain here, Caffio,
Was my dear Friend. What Malice was between you?

Caf. None in the World; nor do I know the Man.
Jago. What look you pale? Oh bear him out o'th' Air.
Stay you good Gentlemen. Look you pale, Mistress?
Do you perceive the Gaftnefs of her Eye? [To Bianca.
Nay, if you ftare, we fhall hear more anon.
Behold her well, I pray you look upon her,
Do you fee, Gentlemen? Nay, Guiltinefs will fpeak,
Though Tongues were out of ufe.

Enter Emilia.

Emil. Alas, what is the Matter? What is the Matter, Husband?

Jago. Caffio hath here been fet on in the Dark

By Rodorigo, and Fellows that are 'fcap'd:

He's almost flain, and Rodorigo quite dead.

Emil. Alas, good Gentleman! Alas, good Caffio! Jago. This is the fruits of whoring. Prithee Æmilia, Go know of Caffie where he fupt to Night.

What do you shake at that?

Bian. He fupt at my Houfe, but I therefore shake not.
Jago. O did he fo? I charge you go with me.

Emil. Oh fie upon thee, Strumpet.

Bian. I am no Strumpet, but of Life as honeft,

As you that thus abuse me,

Emil. As I? Fie upon thee.

Jago. Kind Gentlemen: Let's go fee poor Caffio dreft.

002

Come

Come Mistress, you must tell's another Tale.
Emilia, run you to the Cittadel,
And tell my Lord and Lady, what hath hap'd:
Will you go on afore? This is the Night
That either makes me, or foredoes me quite.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Bed-chamber: Defdemona is difcover'd afleep in her Bed.

Enter Othello.

Oth. It is the Caufe, it is the Caufe, my Soul,
Let me not name it to you, you chafte Stars,
It is the Caufe. Yet I'll not fhed her Blood,
Nor fcar that whiter Skin of hers than Snow,
And fmooth as Monumental Alabafter:
Yet the muft die, elfe he'll betray more Men:
Put out the Light, and then put cut the Light,
If I quench thee, thon flaming Minister,

I can again thy former Light restore,
Should I repent me. But once put out thy Light,
Thou cunning'ft Pattern of excelling Nature,

I know not where is that Promethean Heat

That can thy Light rc-lumine..

When I have pluck'd thy Rose,

I cannot give it vital Growth again.

It needs muft wither. I'll fmell thee on the Tree; [Kiffing her. O balmy Breath, that doft almoft perfwade

Juftice to break her Sword.

One more, one more ;

Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,

And love thee after. One more, and that's the laft.

So fweet, was ne'er fo fatal. I must weep,

But they are cruel Tears: This Sorrow's heav'nly,
It ftrikes, where it doth love. She wakes.

Def. Who's there, Othello?

Oth. Ay, Desdemona.

Def. Will you come to Bed, my Lord?
Oth. Have you pray'd to Night, Desdemona ?
Def. Ay, my Lord.

Oth.