Puslapio vaizdai

Unreconcil'd as yet to heav'n, and grace,

Solicit for it ftraight.

Def. Alack, my Lord,

What may you mean by That?

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by. I would not kill thy unprepared fpirit,

No, (heav'ns forefend!) I would not kill thy foul. Def. Talk you of killing?

Oth. Ay, I do.

Def. Then heav'n have mercy on me!

Oth. Amen, with all my heart.

Def. If you fay fo, I hope, you will not kill me. Oth. Hum. qu

Def. And yet I fear you!" for you're fatal then, When your eyes rowl fo. Why I fhould fear, I

know not,

Since guilt I know not: yet, I feel, I fear.

Oth. Think on thy fins.

Def. They're Loves I bear to you.

Oth. Ay, and for That thou dy'ft, “

Def. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. Alas, why gnaw you fo your nether lip? Some bloody paffion fhakes your very frame; Thefe are portents: but yet I hope, I hope, They do not point on me.

Oth. Peace, and be fill.

·Def. 1 will To, what's the matter?

Oth. That handkerchief

Which I fo lov'd, and gave thee, thou gav'fl Caffio. Def. No, by my life and foul: fend for the man, And ask him.

Oth. Sweet Soul, take heed, take heed of perjury; Thou art on thy death-bed.

Def. Ay, but not yet to die.

Oth. Prefently;

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Therefore confefs thee freely of thy fin:

For to deny each article with oath,

Cannot remove, nor choke, the ftrong conception


That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.
Def. Oh, heav'n have mercy on me!
Oth. I fay, amen.


Def. And have you mercy too! — I never did
Offend you in my life; never lov'd Caffio,
But with fuch general warranty of heav'n,
As I might love. I never gave him token.

Oth. By heav'n, I saw my handkerchief in's hand. Oh pejur'd woman! thou doft stone my heart; And mak'ft me call, what I intend to do,

A murder, which I thought a facrifice.
I faw the handkerchief,
Def. He found it then;

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I never gave it him; fend for him hither,
Let him confefs a truth.

Oth. He hath confeft.

Def. What, my lord?

Oth. That he hath—us'd thee

Def. How? unlawfully ?

Oth. Ay.

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Def. He will not say fo.b, zich jac
Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd;

Honeft Iago hath ta'en order for't.

Def. My fear interprets then-What, isthe dead ? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge. Had ftomach for them all od pr så kjuk sel

Def. Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone. Hval Oth. Out, ftrumpet! weep't thou for him to my face?

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Def. Oh banish me, my Lord, but kill me not.
Oth. Down, ftrumpet.

Def. Kill me to-morrow, let me live, to-night.
Oth. Nay, if you ftrive

Def. But half an hour.

Oth. Being done, there is no paufe.

Def. But while I fay one prayer. that

Oth. It is too late.

[He fmothers her.


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Emil. M

Emilia, at the door.

Y lord, my lord! what hoa! my lord, my lord!

Oth. What noife is this? not dead? not yet quite dead?

I, that am cruel, am yet merciful;

I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
So, fo.

Emil. within.] What hoa! my Lord, my Lord!
Oth. Who's there?

Emil. Oh, my good Lord, I would speak a word with you.

Oth. Yes, 'tis Emilia-by and by-she's dead. 'Tis like fhe comes to fpeak of Caffio's death; The noise was high.-Ha, no more moving? Still as the Grave. Shall fhe come in? were't good? I think, she stirs again-No-what's the best? If fhe come in, fhe'll, fure, fpeak to my wife; My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife. Oh infupportable! oh heavy hour!

Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipfe

Of Sun, and Moon, and that th' affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration

Emil. I befeech you,

That I may speak with you. Oh, good my lord!Oth. I had forgot thee; oh, come in, Æmilia.

Soft, by and by, let me the curtains draw.

Where art thou? what's the matter with thee now? [Unlocks the door.

Enter Emilia.

Emil. Oh, my good lord, yonder's foul murder


Oth. What? now?

Emil. But now, my




Oth. It is the very error of the Moon;

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She comes more near the Earth than she was wont,

And makes men mad.

Emil. Caffio, my Lord, hath kill'd
A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo.

Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Caffio kill'd?
Emil. No, Caffio is not kill'd.

Oth. Not Caffio kill'd then murder's out of tune, And fweet revenge grows harsh.

Def. Oh,falfely, falfely murder'd!

Emil. Alas! what cry is that?

Oth. That? what?

Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice. Help! help, hoa! help! oh lady, speak again; Sweet Defdemona! oh, fweet miftrefs, fpeak.

Def. A guiltlefs death I die.

Emil. Oh, who hath done this deed?

Def. No body, I myfelf, farewel;

Commend me to my kind Lord; oh, farewel.

Oth. Why, how fhould she be murder'd?
Emil. Alas! who knows!


Oth. You heard her say, herself, it was not I. Emil. She faid fo, I must needs report the truth. Oth. She's like a liar gone to burning hell;

'Twas I, that kill'd her.

Emil. Oh, the more Angel fhe, and you the blacker Devil.

Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. Emil. Thou doft bely her, and thou art a Devil. Oth. She was falfe as water.

Emil. Thou art rafh as fire, to fay

That she was falfe. Oh, fhe was heav'nly true.
Oth. Caffio did tup her; afk thy husband elfe.
Oh, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon juft grounds
To this extremity. Thy hufband knew it all.
Emil. My husband !


h. Thy hufband.

Emil. That he was falfe to wedlock?

Oth. Ay, with Caffio: had he been true,
If heav'n would make me fuch another World,
Of one entire and perfect Chryfolite,

I'd not have fold her for it.

Emil. My husband!

Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first :

An honeft man he is, and hates the flime
That fticks on filthy deeds.

Emil. My husband!

Oth. What needs this iteration, woman?

I fay, thy husband.


Emil. Oh miftrefs! villany has made mocks with My husband fay, she was falfe!

Oth. He, woman;

I fay, thy husband; doft underftand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honeft Iago.
Emil. If he fay fo, may his pernicious foul
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to th' heart.
She was too fond of her moft filthy bargain.
Oth. Hah!

Emil. Do thy worft:

This deed of thine is no more worthy heav'n,
Than thou waft worthy her.

Oth. Peace, you were best.

Emil. Thou haft not half that power to do me harm, As I have to be hurt: oh gull! oh dolt! As ignorant as dirt! thou'ft done a deed

I care not for thy fword, I'll make thee known, Though I loft twenty lives-Help! help, hoa; help! The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murder, murder!

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Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others,

Mon. W Emil. Oh, are you come, Iago? you have

THAT is the matter? how now, General?

done well,

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