Obrazy na stronie

Let Heav'n, and Men, and Devils, let them all,
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Fago. Be wise and get you home, .
Æmil. I will not.

[Jago offers 10 ftab bis Wife, Gra. Fie, your sword upon a Woman?

Æmil. Oh, thou dull Moor,
That Handkerchief thou speak'st of
I found by Fortune, and did give my Husband;
For often, with a solema earnestness,
More than indeed belong'd to such a Trifle,
He begg'd of me, to steal it.
Jago. Villanous Whore !

Æmil. She give it Caffio? Alas I found it,
And I did give't my Husband,

Jago. Filth, thou lieft.

Æmil. By Heav'n I do not, I do not, Gentlemen: Oh murd'rous Coxcomb, what should such a Fool. Do with so good a Wife?

[Jago breaks through and wounds his Wife, then runs out,

Oth. Are there no stones in Heav'n,
But what serve for the Thunder precious Villain !

Gra. The Woman falls ; sure he hath kill'd bis Wife.
Æmil. Ay, ay; Oh lay me by Mistress fide.
Gra. He's gone, but his Wife's kill'd.

Mon. 'Tis a notorious Villain; take you this Weapon,
Which I have recover'd from the Moor :
Come, guard the Door without, let him not pass,
But kill him rather ; I'll after that same Villain,
For 'tis a damned Slave.

Oth. I am not valiant neither
But every Puny whipster gets my Sword.
But why should Honour out-live Honesty?
Let it go all.

Æmil What did thy Song boad, Lady?
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the Swan,
And die in Musick; Willow, Willow, Willow
Moor, she was chast, she lov'd thee, cruel Moor,
So come my Soul to Bliss, as I speak true;
Şo speaking as I think, alas, I die.

[Æmilia Dies.


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Oth. I have another Weapon in this Chamber, It was a Sword of Spain, the Ice brooks temper ; Oh here it is : Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear; Thou hast no Weapon, and perforce must suffer.

Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with mc, Or naked as I am I will assault thee.

Gra. What is the matter?

Oih. Behold I have a Weapon : A better never did it self sustain Upon a Soldier's Thigh. I have seen the Day, That with this little Arm, and this good Sword, I have made my way through more impediments, Than twenty times your stop. But, oh vain Boast! Who can controul his Fate Tis not so now. Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapond; Here is my Journey's end, here is my Butt, And very Sea-mark of my utmost Sail. Do you go back dismaid ? 'Tis a loft Fear': Man but a rush against Othello's Breaft, And he retires. Where should Othello go? Now ---- how doft thou look now? Oh ill-Itar'd Wench! Pale as thy Smock! When we shall meet at Compt, This look of thine will hurl my Soul from Heav'n, And Fiends will soatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girls Even like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slave ! Whip me, ye Devils, From the Poffefsion of this heav'nly sight ; Blow me about in Winds, and roast me in Sulphur, Wash me in steep-down Gulfs of liquid Fire Oh Desdemona ! Dead, Desdemona! Dead, dead! Oh, oh! Enter Lodovico, Callio led in wounded, Montano, and

Jago Prisoner, with Officers. Lod. Where is this rash, and most unfortunate Man? Oth. That's he that was Othello: Here I am, Lod. Where is that Viper ? bring the Villain forth.

Oth. I look down towards his Feet; but that's a Fable, If that thou beest a Devil, I cannot kill thee.

[Othello wounds Jago. Lod. Wrench his Sword from him.


will :

Fago. I bleed, Sir, but not killd.

Oth. I am not sorry neither, I'd have thee live ;
For in my Sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod. Oh thou, Orhello, that wast once so good,
Faln in the Practice of a cursed Slave,
What shall be said to thee ?

Oth, Why any thing ;
An Honourable Murtherer, if you
For bought I did hate, but all in Honour,

Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany :
Did you and he consent in Caffio's Death?
Oib. Ay.
Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Cause,

Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your Pardon :
Will you, I pray, demand that Demy-Devil,
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soul and Body.
Fago. Demand me nothing, what you know, you know

From this time forth, I never will speak word.

Lod. What? not to pray ?
Gra. Torments will ope your Lips.
Otb. Well, thou doft best.

Lod. Sir you shall understand what hath befaln,
Which as I think, you know not; here is a Letter,
Found in the Pocket of the Nain Rodorigo,
And here another, the one of them imports
The Death of Casio, to be undertook
By Rodorigo,
Oth. O Villain!
Caf. Most heathenish, and most gross.

Lod. Now, here's another discontented Paper
Found in his Pocket too ; and this it seems.
Rodorigo meant t'have fent this damned Villain ;
But that belike Jago in the interim
Came in, and satisfy'd him.

Oth. O 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 confest it but even now,
That, there he dropt it for a special purpose


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Which wrought to his desire.

Oth. O Fool, Fool, Fool !

Caf. There is besides, in Roderigo's Letter,
How he upbraids Jago, that he made him
Brave me upon the Watch ; whereon it came
That I was cast ; and even but now he fpake
After long seeming dead, Jago hurt him,
Jago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us;
Your Power and your Command is t:ken off,
And Casio rules in Cyprus. For this Slave,
If there be any cunning Cruelty,
That can torment him much, and hold him long,
It shall be his. You shall close Prisoner reft,
Till that the Nature of your fault be known
To the Venetian State. Come, bring away.

Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go.
I have done the State fome Service, and they know't;
No more of that. I pray you in your Letters,
When you shall these unlucky Deeds relate,
Speak of me, as I am. Nothing extenuate,
Nor set down ought in Malice.
Then muft you speak,
Of one that lov'd not wisely, but too well;
Of one, not easily Jealous, but being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extream; of one, whose Hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a Pearl away
Richer than all his Tribe; of one, whose subdu'd Eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop Tears as fast as the Arabian Trees
Their Medicinal Gum. Set you down this.
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant, and a Turband-Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the State,
I took by th' Throat the Circumcised Dog,
And smote him, thus.

[Stabs himself
Lod. Oh bloody Period !
Gra. All that is spoke is marr'd.

Oth. I kist thee, e'er I kill'd thee: No way but this, Killing my self, to die upon a Kifs.



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