Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
I that am cruell, am yet mercifull, I would not haue thee linger in thy paine?
So, so.
Aemil. within. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord?
Oth. Who"s there?
Aemil. Oh good my Lord, I would speake a word with you
Oth. Yes: "Tis aemilia: by and by. Shee"s dead.
"Tis like she comes to speake of Ca.s.sio"s death: The noise was high. Hah, no more moouing?
Still as the Graue. Shall she come in? Wer"t good?
I thinke she stirres againe. No, what"s best to do?
If she come in, shee"l sure speake to my wife: My wife, my wife: what wife? I haue no wife.
Oh insupportable! Oh heauy houre!
Me thinkes, it should be now a huge Eclipse Of Sunne, and Moone; and that th" affrighted Globe Did yawne at Alteration.
Aemil. I do beseech you That I may speake with you. Oh good my Lord
Oth. I had forgot thee: oh come in aemilia.
Soft, by and by, let me the Curtaines draw.
Where art thou? What"s the matter with thee now?
Enter aemilia.
Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done
Oth. What? now?
Aemil. But now, my Lord
Oth. It is the very error of the Moone, She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont, And makes men mad.
Aemil. Ca.s.sio, my Lord, hath kill"d A young Venetian, call"d Rodorigo
Oth. Rodorigo kill"d? and Ca.s.sio kill"d?
Aemil. No, Ca.s.sio is not kill"d
Oth. Not Ca.s.sio kill"d? Then Murther"s out of tune, And sweet Reuenge growes harsh
Des. O falsely, falsely murder"d.
Aemil. Alas! what cry is that?
Oth. That? What?
Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice.
Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe, Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake
Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye.
Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed?
Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell: Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell
Oth. Why, how should she be murdred?
Aemil. Alas: who knowes?
Oth. You heare her say her selfe, it was not I.
Aemil. She said so: I must needs report the truth
Oth. She"s like a Liar gone to burning h.e.l.l, "Twas I that kill"d her.
Aemil. Oh the more Angell she, and you the blacker Diuell
Oth. She turn"d to folly: and she was a wh.o.r.e.
Aemil. Thou do"st bely her, and thou art a diuell
Oth. She was false as water.
Aemil. Thou art rash as fire, to say That she was false. Oh she was heauenly true
Oth. Ca.s.sio did top her: Ask thy husband else.
O, I were d.a.m.n"d beneath all depth in h.e.l.l: But that I did proceed vpon iust grounds To this extremity. Thy Husband knew it all.
Aemil. My Husband?
Oth. Thy Husband.
Aemil. That she was false to Wedlocke?
Oth. I, with Ca.s.sio: 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.
Aemil. 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.
Aemil. My Husband?
Oth. What needs this itterance, Woman?
I say, thy Husband.
Aemil. 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.
Aemil. 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?
Aemil. Do thy worst: This deede of thine is no more worthy Heauen, Then thou was"t worthy her
Oth. Peace, you were best.
Aemil. 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?
Aemil. Oh, are you come, Iago: you haue done well, That men must lay their Murthers on your necke
Gra. What is the matter?
Aemil. 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.
Aemil. But did you euer tell him, She was false?
Iago. I did.
Aemil. You told a Lye an odious d.a.m.ned Lye: Vpon my Soule, a Lye; a wicked Lye.
Shee false with Ca.s.sio?
Did you say with Ca.s.sio?
Iago. With Ca.s.sio, 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