Puslapio vaizdai

That men muft lay their murders on your neck.
Gra. What is the matter?

Emil. Difprove this villain, if thou be'ft a man ;
He fays, 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.

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

Emil. But did you ever tell him, she was falfe?
Iago. I did.

Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned, lie: Upon my foul, a lie; a wicked lie.

She falle with Caffio? did you fay, with Caffio? Iago. With Caffio, miftrefs; go to, charm your tongue.

Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I'm bound to fpeak;

My mistress lies here murder'd in her bed.

All. Oh heav'ns forefend !

Emil. And your reports have fet the murder on. Oth. Nay, ftare not, mafters; it is true, indeed. Gra. 'Tis a ftrange truth.

Mont. Oh monftrous act!

Emil. Villany! villany! villany!

I think upon't-I think-I fmell't-Oh villany!
I thought fo then; I'll kill myself for grief ;-
Oh villany, villany!

Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you


Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak; 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now : Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth. Oh! oh! oh! [Othello falls on the bed.
Emil, Nay, lay thee down and roar :

For thou haft kill'd the sweetest Innocent,
That e'er did lift up eye.

Oth. Oh, fhe was foul!


I fcarce did know you, Uncle; there lies your Niece,


Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly ftop'd; I know, this act fhews horrible and grim.

Gra. Poor Difdemona ! I'm 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 defperate turn;
Yea, curfe his better Angel from his fide,
And fall to reprobation.

Oth. 'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows,
That fhe with Caffio had the act of shame
A thousand times committed. Caffio confeft it;
And she did gratify his amorous works,
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I faw it in his hand;
It was an handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

Emil. Oh heav'n! oh heav'nly Powers!
Iago. Come hold your peace.

Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out-I, peace!
No, I will speak as liberal as the air;

Let heav'n, and men, and devils, let them all,
All, all cry fhame against me, yet I'll fpeak.
Iago: Be wife, and get you home.

Emil. I will not.

[Iago offers to ftab his wife.

Gra. Fie, your sword upon a woman?

Emil. O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief, thou fpeak'ft of,

I found by fortune, and did give my husband;
For often, with a folemn earneftnefs,

(More than, indeed, belong'd to fuch a trifle)

He begg'd of me to fteal it.

Iago. Villanous whore !

Emil. She give it Caffio? alas, I found it,

And I did give't my husband.

Iago. Filth, thou lieft.

Emil. By heav'n, I do not; I do not gentlemen:

Oh murd'rous coxcomb! what should such a fool

Do with fo good a wife?

Iago breaks through and wounds his wife, then runs out.

Oth. Are there no ftones in heav'n?

For what then ferves the thunder? precious viliain! Gra. The woman falls; fure he has kill'd his wife. Emil. Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' fide. Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

Mont. 'Tis a notorious villain; take this weapon, Which I have here recover'd from the Moor: Come guard the door without, let him not pass, But kill him rather; I'll after that fame villain, For 'tis a damned flave. [Exeunt Mont. and Gra.



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Am not valiant neither;

But every puny whipfter gets my fword.

But why should honour out-live honesty?
Let it go all.

Emil. what did thy Song bode, lady?

Hark, canft thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in mufic; Willow, Willow, Willow-
Moor, fhe was chafte; fhe lov'd thee, cruel Moor;
So come my foul to bliss, as I speak true;
So fpeaking as I think, alas, I die.

[Emilia dies.
Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber,
It was a fword of Spain, the Ebro's temper;
Oh, here it is: Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;

Thou haft no weapon, and perforce muft fuffer.
Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me,
Or, naked as I am, I will affault thee.

Re-enter Gratiano.

Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. Lo! I have a weapon: A better never did itself fuftain


Upon a foldier's thigh. I've feen the day,
That with this little arm, and this good fword,
I've made my way thro' more impediments,
Than twenty times your ftop. But, oh vain boaft!
Who can controul his fate? 'tis not fo now.
Be not afraid, tho' you do fee me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my Butt,
The very fea-mark of my utmost fail.
Do you go back difmay'd? 'tis a loft fear:
Man but a rush against Othello's breaft,
And he retires. Where fhould Othello go?

Now how doft thou look now? oh ill-ftarr'd

Pale as thy fmock! When we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my foul from heav'n,
And fiends will fnatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girl,
Ev'n like thy chastity. O cursed slave !
Whip me, ye Devils,

From the poffeffion of this heav'nly fight;
Blow me about in winds, roaft me in fulphur,
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire-
Oh Defdemona! Defdemona! dead, dead! oh, oh!

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Enter Lodovico, Caffio led in wounded, Montano, and Iago prifoner, with Officers.

Lod. WHERE is this rash and moft unfortu

nate man?

Oth. That's he, that was Othello: here I am.

Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth. Oth. I look down tow'rds his feet; but That's a fable. If that thou be'ft a Devil, I cannot kill thee,

[Othello wounds Iago.

Lod. Wrench his fword from him.

Iago. I bleed, Sir, but not kill'd.

Oth. I am not forry, neither: I'd have thee live ;

For, in my fenfe, 'tis happiness to die.


Lod. Oh thou, Othello, that waft once fo good, Fall'n in the practice of a curfed flave,What fhall be faid to thee?

Oth. Why, any thing;

An honourable murd'rer, if you will:
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.
Lod. This wretch hath part confeft his villany:
Did you and he consent in Caffio's death?
Oth. Ay.

Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Caufe.
Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon:
Will you, I pray, demand that demy-devil,
Why he hath thus enfnar'd my foul and body?
Iago. Demand me nothing; what you know, you

From this time forth I never will speak word.
Lod. What? not to pray?

Gra. Torments will ope your lips.

Oth. Well, thou doft beft.

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n, Which, as I think, you know not; here's a letter, Found in the pocket of the flain Rodorigo, And here, another; one of them imports The death of Caffio to be undertook

By Rodorigo.

Oth. Oh villain !

Caf. Moft heathenifh and moft grofs !

Lod. Now, here's another difcontented paper,
Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
Rodorigo meant t' have fent this damned villain;
But that, belike, Iago in the interim
Came in and fatisfy'd him.

Oth. Oh 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 confeft it but even now,
That there he dropt it for a special purpose,

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