« AnkstesnisTęsti »
That men muft lay their murders on your neck.
Emil. Difprove this villain, if thou be'ft a man ;
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?
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!
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.
For thou haft kill'd the sweetest Innocent,
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;
Oth. 'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows,
Emil. Oh heav'n! oh heav'nly Powers!
Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out-I, peace!
Let heav'n, and men, and devils, let them all,
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;
(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.
Am not valiant neither;
But every puny whipfter gets my fword.
But why should honour out-live honesty?
Emil. what did thy Song bode, lady?
Hark, canft thou hear me? I will play the swan,
Gra. within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;
Thou haft no weapon, and perforce muft fuffer.
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,
Now how doft thou look now? oh ill-ftarr'd
Pale as thy fmock! When we shall meet at compt,
From the poffeffion of this heav'nly fight;
Enter Lodovico, Caffio led in wounded, Montano, and Iago prifoner, with Officers.
Lod. WHERE is this rash and moft unfortu
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:
Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Caufe.
From this time forth I never will speak word.
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
Oth. Oh villain !
Caf. Moft heathenifh and moft grofs !
Lod. Now, here's another difcontented paper,
Oth. Oh thou pernicious caitiff!
How came you, Caffio, by that handkerchief
Caf. I found it in my chamber;
And he himself confeft it but even now,