Puslapio vaizdai

Enter Desdemona and Æmilia.
Def. My Lord, what is your Will?
Oth. Pray you, Chuck, come hither.
Def. What is your Pleasure ?
Oth. Let me see your Eyes ; look in


Face. Def. What horrible Fancy's this?

Oth. Some of your Fundion, Mistress, Leave Procreants alone, and shut the Door, Cough, or cry hem, if any body come, Your Mystery, your Mystery; nay dispatch. [Exit Æmil.

Des. Upon my Knee, what doth your Speech import? I understand a Fury in your

Words. Oth. Why? What art thou? Def. Your Wife, my Lord ; your true and loyal Wife. Oth. Come swear it; damn thy self, being like one

: Of Heav'n, the Devils themselves should fear to seize thee. Therefore be double damn'd; swear thou art honeft. Der. Heav'n doth truly know it.

Oth. Heav'n truly knows, That thou art falfe as Hell.

Def. To whom, my Lord? With whom? How am I false?

Oth. Ah, Desdemon, away, away, away

Def. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
Am I the Motive of these Tears, my Lord ?
If happily you my Father do suspect,
An Instrument of this your calling back,
Lay not your Blame on me; if you have lost him,
Why I have lost him too.

Otb. Had it pleas'd Heav'n,
To try me with Afli&ion, had he rain'd
All kind of Sores, and Thames on my bare Head,
Steep'd me in Poverty to the very Lips,
Given to Caprivity me and my utmost hopes ;
I should have found in some place of
A drop of Patience. But alas, to make me
A fixed Figure for the hand of Scorn
To point his flow and moving Finger at -
Yet could I bear that too, well, very well :
But there where I have garner'd up my Heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no Life,


my Soul

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The Fountain from the which my Current runs,

Or else dries up, to be discarded thence;
Or keep it as a Cistern, for foul Toads
To knot and gender in. Turn thy Complexion there,
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd Cherubin,
I here look Grim as Hell.

Def. I hope my noble Lord efteems me Honest.

Oth. O ay, as Summer-Flies are in the Shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. Oh thou Weed!
Who art so lovely, fair, and smell'st so sweet,
That the Sense asks at thee;
Would thou'dft never been born!

Def. Alas, what ignorant Sin have I committed ?

Oih. Was this fair Paper, this most goodly Book,
Made to write Whore upon? What committed,
Committed? Oh, thou publick Commoner,
I should make very Forges of my Cheeks,
That would to Cynders burn up Modesty,
Did but I speak thy Deeds. Wha', committed?
Heav'n stops the Nose at it, and the Moon winks;
The bawdy Wind, that kisses all it meets,
Is hush'd within the hollow Mine of Earth
And will not hear't. What, committed?

Des. By Htav’n, you do me wrong.
Oth. Are not you a Strumpet?

Def. No, as I am a Christian.
If to preserve this Vefsel for

my Lord, From any other foul unlawful touch, Be, not to be a Strumpet, I am none.

Oth. What, not a Whore?
Def. No, as I shall be fav'd.
Oih. Is'c poffible?
Def. Oh Heav'n forgive us.

Oth. I ciy you Mercy, then.
I took you for that cunning Whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. You, Mistress,

Enter Æmilia.
That have the Office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the Gate of Hell. You, you! Ay you!
We have done our course, there's Mony for your Pains;
I pray you, turn the Key, and keep our Counsel. [Exit.

Æmil. Alas, what does this Gentleman conceive ? How do you, Madam ? How do you, my good Lady?

Def. Faith, half asleep.
Æmil. Good Madam, what's the matter with


Lord? Def. With whom?

Æmil. Why, with my Lord, Madam?
Des. Who is thy Lord ?
Amil. He that is yours, sweet Lady.

Def. I have none, do not talk to me, Æmilia,
I cannot weep ; nor answers have I none,
But what should go by Water. Prethee to night,
Lay on my Bed my wedding Sheets, remember,
And call thy Husband hither.
Æmil. Here's a change indeed.

Def. 'Tis meet I should be us'd lo, very meet
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick
The smallest Opinion on my least misuse ?

Enter Jago, and Æmilia.
Fago. What is your Pleafure, Madam ?
How is't with you?

Def. I cannot tell; those that do teach your Babes,
Do it with gentle Means, and easie Tasks ;
He might have chid me so; For in good Faith,
I am a Child to chiding.

Fago. What's the Matter, Lady ?
Æmil. Alas, Jago, my Lord hath so bewhor'd her,
Thrown (uch despight, and heavy Terms upon

her, That true Hearts cannot bear it.

Des. Am I that Name, Jago ?
Jago. What Name, fair Lady ?
Des. Such as she said my Lord did say I was.

Amil. He call'd her Whore; a Beggar, in his drink,
Could not have laid fuch Terms upon his Callet.

Fago. Why did he fo?
Des. I do not know; I am sure I am none such.
Jago. Do not weep, do not weep; alas the Day !

Æmil. Hath she forsook so many noble Matches?
Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends ?
To be calls Whore? Would it not make one weep?
Def. It is my wretched Fortune,


pany ?

Jago. Beshrew him fort ; how comes this trick upon

him ?
Def. Nay, Heav'n doth know.

Æmil. I will be hang'd if some eternal Villain,
Some busie and insinuating Rogue,
Some cogging, cozening Slave, to get some Office,
Has not devis’dthis flander: I will be hang'd else.

Fago. Fie, there is no such Man ; it is impossible.
Def. If any such there be, Heav'n pardon him.

. A Halter pardon him, and Hell goaw his Bones. Why should he call her Whore ? Who keeps her ComWhat Place ? what Time & what Form what Likely:

? hood ? The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous Koave, Some base notorious Knave, some scurvy Fellow. Oh Heav'ns, that such Companions thoud'st unfold, And put in

every honest Hand a Whip,
To lalh the Rascal naked through the World,
Even from the East to th' Weft.

Jago. Speak within Door.

. Oh fie upon them! Some such 'Squire he was That turn’d your Wit, the seamy side without, And made you to suspe& me with the Moor.

7ago. You are a Fool; go to.

Des. Alas, Jago, What shall I do to win my Lord again ? Good Friend, go to him; for by this light of Heav'n, I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel; [Kneeling. If e'er my will did trespass 'gainft his Love, Either in Discourse of thought, or a&ual deed, Or that mine Eyes, mine Ears, or any Sense Delighted them on any other Form ; Or that I do not yet, and ever did, And ever will, though he do shake me off To beggarly Divorcement, love him dearly, Comfort forfwear me, Unkindness may do much, And his Unkindness may defeat my Life,

, But never taint my Love. I cannot say Whore, It do's abhor me now I speak the Word,


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To do the A&, that might the Addition earn,
Nor the World's Mass of Vanity could make me.

Jago. I pray you be content; {tis but his Humour;
The Business of the State do's him offence,

DefIf 'cwere no other.

Jaga. It is but so, I warrant,
Hark how these Instruments fummon to fupper ; [Trumpets.
The Messenger of Venice stays the Meat;
Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Æmilia.

Enter Rodorigo.
How now, Rodorigo ?

Rodo I do not find
That thou deal'st juftly with me.

Jago. What in the contrary?

Rod. Every day thou dofist me with some device, Jago, and rather as it seems to me now, keep'st from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the least Advantage of hope ; I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am I yet perswaded to put up in Peace, what already I have foolishly fuffer'd.

Fago. Will you hear me, Rodorigo ?
Rod. I have heard too much ; and


words and performances are no kin together.

Fago. You charge me most unjustly.

Rod. With naught but Truth: I have wasted my self out of my means. The Jewels you have had from me to deliver Desdemona, would half have corrupted a Votarist. you have told me she hath receiv'd them, and returo'd me expectations and comforts of sudden refpe&, and acquaintance, but I find none,

Jago. Well, go to ; very well,

Rod. Very well, go to; I cannot go to, Man, nor 'tis not very well ; nay, I think it is Scurvy; and begin to find my self fob'd in it. Jago. Very well.

Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well ; I will make my self known to Desdemona. If the will return me my Jewels, I will give over my Suit

, and repent my unlawful Solicitation, If not, assure your felf, I will feek Satisfa&ion of you.


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