Enter Desdemona and Emilia.

Def. My Lord, what is your Will?

Oth. Pray you, Chuck, come hither.
Def. What is your Pleasure ?

Oth. Let me fee your Eyes; look in my Face.
Def. What horrible Fancy's this?

Oth. Some of your Function, Mistress,
Leave Procreants alone, and fhut the Door,
Cough, or cry hem, if any body come,

Your Mystery, your Mystery; nay dispatch. [Exit Æmil. Def. 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 fwear it; damn thy felf, being like one Of Heav'n, the Devils themselves fhould fear to feize thee. Therefore be double damn'd; fwear thou art honeft. Def. 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 falfe?

Oth. Ah, Desdemon, away, away, away
Def. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep?
Am I the Motive of thefe Tears, my Lord ?
If happily you my Father do fufpect,

An Inftrument of this your calling back,

Lay not your Blame on me; if you have loft him,
Why I have loft him too.

Oth. Had it pleas'd Heav'n,

To try me with Affliction, had he rain'd
All kind of Sores, and fhames on my bare Head,
Steep'd me in Poverty to the very Lips,
Given to Captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in fome place of my Soul
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 muft live, or bear no Life,

No 4

The Fountain from the which my Current runs,
Or elfe dries up, to be difcarded thence ;
Or keep it as a Ciftern, for foul Toads

To knot and gender in. Turn thy Complexion there,
Patience, thou young and rofe-lipp'd Cherubin,
I here look Grim as Hell.

Def. I hope my noble Lord efteems me Honeft.

Oth. O ay, as Summer-Flies are in the Shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. Oh thou Weed!
Who art fo lovely, fair, and fmell'ft fo fweet,
That the Senfe asks at thee;

Would thou'dft never been born!

Def. Alas, what ignorant Sin have I committed?
Oth, Was this fair Paper, this moft 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 Modefty,
Did but I speak thy Deeds. What, committed?
Heav'n ftops the Nofe 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. Whar, committed?.
Def. By Heav'n, you do me wrong.
Oth. Are not you a Strumpet?
Def. No, as I am a Christian.
If to preferve this Veffel 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 fhall be fav'd.
Oth. Is't poffible?

Def. Oh Heav'n forgive us.
Oth. I cry you Mercy, then.

I took you for that cunning Whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. You, Mistress,
Enter Emilia.

That have the Office oppofite to Saint Peter,

And keep the Gate of Hell. You, you! Ay you!

We have done our courfe, there's Mony for your Pains; I pray you, turn the Key, and keep our Counfel.

[Exit.

Emil. Alas, what does this Gentleman conceive? How do you, Madam? How do you, my good Lady? Def. Faith, half afleep.

Amil. Good Madam, what's the matter with my Lord?
Def. With whom?

Emil. Why, with my Lord, Madam ?
Def. Who is thy Lord?

Emil. He that is yours, fweet Lady.

Def. I have none, do not talk to me, Æmilia,
I cannot weep; nor anfwers 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.

Amil. Here's a change indeed.

Def. 'Tis meet I fhould be us'd fo, very meet How have I been behav'd, that he might stick The smallest Opinion on my leaft mifufe? Enter Jago, and Æmilia.

Jago. What is your Pleafure, Madam ? How is't with you?

Def. I cannot tell; thofe that do teach your Babes,
Do it with gentle Means, and eafie Tasks;

He might have chid me fo; For in good Faith,
I am a Child to chiding.

Jago. What's the Matter, Lady?

Emil. Alas, Jago, my Lord hath fo bewhor'd her,
Thrown fuch defpight, and heavy Terms upon her,
That true Hearts cannot bear it.

Def. Am I that Name, Jago?
Jago. What Name, fair Lady?

Def. Such as the faid my Lord did fay I was.
Amil. He call'd her Whore; a Beggar, in his drink,
Could not have laid fuch Terms upon his Callet.
Jago. Why did he fo?

Def. I do not know; I am fure I am none fuch. Jago. Do not weep, do not weep; alas the Day! Emil. Hath the forfook so many noble Matches? Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends? To be call'd Whore? Would it not make one weep? Def. It is my wretched Fortune,

[Exit.

Fazo.

Jago. Befhrew him for't; how comes this trick upon him?

Def. Nay, Heav'n doth know.

Emil. I will be hang'd if fome eternal Villain,
Some bufie and infinuating Rogue,

Some cogging, cozening Slave, to get some Office,
Has not devis'd this flander: I will be hang'd elfe.

Jago. Fie, there is no fuch Man; it is impoffible.
Def. If any fuch there be, Heav'n pardon him.

Amil. A Halter pardon him, and Hell gnaw his Bones. Why should he call her Whore? Who keeps her Company?

What Place? what Time? what Form? what Likelyhood?

The Moor's abus'd by fome moft villanous Knave,
Some base notorious Knave, fome fcurvy Fellow.
Oh Heav'ns, that fuch Companions thoud'ft unfold,
And put in every honeft Hand a Whip,

To lafh the Rafcal naked through the World,
Even from the Eaft to th' Weft.

Jago. Speak within Door.

Amil. Oh fie upon them! Some fuch 'Squire he was
That turn'd your Wit, the feamy fide without,
And made you to fufpect me with the Moor.
Fago. You are a Fool; go to.

Def. Alas, Jago,

What shall I do to win my Lord again?

[Kneeling.

Good Friend, go to him; for by this light of Heav'n,
I know not how I loft him. Here I kneel;
If e'er my will did trefpass 'gainst his Love,
Either in Difcourfe of thought, or actual 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 fhake me off
To beggarly Divorcement, love him dearly,
Comfort forfwear me. Unkindnefs may do much,
And his Unkindness may defeat my Life,

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

To do the A&t, that might the Addition earn,
Not the World's Mafs of Vanity could make me.
Jago. I pray you be content; 'tis but his Humour;
The Bufinefs of the State do's him offence,
Def. If 'twere no other.

Jago. It is but fo, I warrant,

Hark how thefe Inftruments fummon to fupper; [Trumpets. The Meffenger of Venice ftays the Meat;

Go in, and weep not; all things fhall be well.

How now, Redorigo?

Red. I do not find

[Exeunt Defdemona and Emilia.

Enter Rodorigo.

That thou deal'ft juftly with me.
Jago. What in the contrary?

Rod. Every day thou doft'st me with fome device, Jago, and rather as it feems to me now, keep'ft from me all conveniency, than fupplieft me with the leaft Advantage of hope; I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am I yet perfwaded to put up in Peace, what already I have foolifhly fuffer'd.

Jago. Will you hear me, Rodorigo?

Rod. I have heard too much; and your words and performances are no kin together.

Jago. You charge me moft unjustly.

Rod. With naught but Truth: I have wafted my felf out of my means. The Jewels you have had from me to deliver Desdemona, would half have corrupted a Votarist. you have told me the hath receiv'd them, and return'd me expectations and comforts of fudden refpe&t, 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 felf fob'd in it.

Fago. Very well.

Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well; I will make my felf known to Desdemona. If fhe will return me my Jewels, I will give over my Suit, and repent my unlawful Solicitation. If not, affure your felf, I will feek Satisfaction of you.

Jago.