Æmil.
My Husband?
Oth.
Thy Husband.
Æmil.
That she was false to Wedlocke?
Oth.
I, with Cassio: had she bin true,
If Heauen would make me such another world,
Of one entyre and perfect Chrysolite,
I'ld not haue sold her for it.
Æmil.
My Husband?
Oth.
I, 'twas he that told me on her first,
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That stickes on filthy deeds.
Æmil.
My Husband?
Oth.
What needs this itterance, Woman?
I say, thy Husband.
Æmil.
Oh Mistris,
Villany hath made mockes with loue:
My Husband say she was false?
Oth.
He, Woman;
I say thy Husband: Do'st vnderstand the word?
My Friend, thy Husband; honest, honest Iago.
Æmil.
If he say so, may his pernicious Soule
Rot halfe a graine a day: he lyes to'th'heart,
She was too fond of her most filthy Bargaine.
Oth.
Hah?
Æmil.
Do thy worst:
This deede of thine is no more worthy Heauen,
Then thou was't worthy her.
Oth.
Peace, you were best.
Æmil.
Thou hast not halfe that powre to do me harm,
As I haue to be hurt. Oh Gull, oh dolt,
As ignorant as durt: thou hast done a deed
(I care not for thy Sword) Ile make thee known,
Though I lost twenty liues. Helpe, helpe, hoa, helpe:
The Moore hath kill'd my Mistris. Murther, murther.
Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago.
Mon.
What is the matter? How now Generall?
Æmil.
Oh, are you come, Iago: you haue done well,
That men must lay their Murthers on your necke.
Gra.
What is the matter?
Æmil.
Disproue this Villaine, if thou bee'st a man:
He sayes, thou told'st him that his wife was false:
I know thou did'st not: thou'rt not such a Villain.
Speake, for my heart is full.
Iago.
I told him what I thought,
And told no more
Then what he found himselfe was apt, and true.
Æmil.
But did you euer tell him,
She was false?
Iago.
I did.
Æmil.
You told a Lye an odious damned Lye:
Vpon my Soule, a Lye; a wicked Lye.
Shee false with Cassio?
Did you say with Cassio?
Iago.
With Cassio, Mistris?
Go too, charme your tongue.
Emil.
I will not charme my Tongue;
I am bound to speake,
My Mistris heere lyes murthered in her bed.
All.
Oh Heauens, forefend.
Emil.
And your reports haue set the Murder on.
Othello.
Nay stare not Masters,
It is true indeede.
Gra.
'Tis a strange Truth.
Mont.
O monstrous Acte.
Emil.
Villany, villany, villany:
I thinke vpon't, I thinke: I smel't: O Villany:
I thought so then: Ile kill my selfe for greefe.
O villany! villany!
Iago.
What, are you mad?
I charge you get you home.
Emil.
Good Gentlemen, let me haue leaue to speake:
'Tis proper I obey him; but not now:
Perchance Iago, I will ne're go home.
Oth.
Oh, oh, oh.
Emil.
Nay, lay thee downe, and roare:
For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent,
That ere did lift vp eye.
Oth.
Oh she was fowle!
I scarse did know you Vnkle, there lies your Neece,
Whose breath (indeed) these hands haue newly stopp'd:
I know this acte shewes horrible and grim.
Gra.
Poore Desdemon:
I am glad thy Father's dead,
Thy Match was mortall to him: and pure greefe
Shore his old thred in twaine. Did he liue now,
This sight would make him do a desperate turne:
Yea, curse his better Angell from his side,
And fall to Reprobance.
Oth.
'Tis pittifull: but yet Iago knowes
That she with Cassio, hath the Act of shame
A thousand times committed. Cassio confest it,
And she did gratifie his amorous workes
With that Recognizance and pledge of Loue
Which I first gaue her: I saw it in his hand:
It was a Handkerchiefe, an Antique Token
My Father gaue my Mother.
Emil.
Oh Heauen! oh heauenly Powres!
Iago.
Come, hold your peace.
Emil.
'Twill out, 'twill out. I peace?
No, I will speake as liberall as the North;
Let Heauen, and Men, and Diuels, let them all,
All, all, crie shame against me, yet Ile speake.
Iago.
Be wise, and get you home.
Emil.
I will not.
Gra.
Fye, your Sword vpon a Woman.
Emil.
Oh thou dull Moore,
That Handkerchiefe thou speak'st of
I found by Fortune, and did giue my Husband:
For often, with a solemne earnestnesse,
(More then indeed belong'd to such a Trifle)
He begg'd of me, to steale't.
Iago.
Villanous Whore.
Emil.
She giue it Cassio? No, alas I found it,
And I did giu't my Husband.
Iago.
Filth, thou lyest.
Emil.
By Heauen I do not, I do not Gentlemen:
Oh murd'rous Coxcombe, what should such a Foole
Do with so good a wife?
Oth.
Are there no stones in Heauen,
But what serues for the Thunder?
Precious Villaine.
Gra.
The woman falles:
Sure he hath kill'd his Wife.
Emil.
I, I: oh lay me by my Mistris side.
Gra.
Hee's gone, but his wife's kill'd.
Mon.
'Tis a notorious Villain: take you this weapon
Which I haue recouer'd from the Moore:
Come guard the doore without, let him not passe,
But kill him rather. Ile after that same villaine,
For 'tis a damned Slaue. Exit.
Oth.
