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Oth. If you bethink your felf of any crime Unreconcil'd as yet to heav'n, and grace, Solicit for it ftraight.

Def. Alack, my Lord, What may you mean by that?

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by.
I would not kill thy unprepared fpirit,

No, heav'ns fore-fend, I would not kill thy foul.
Def. Talk you of killing?

Oth. Ay, I do.

Def. Then heav'n have mercy on me!

Oth. Amen, with all my heart!

Def. If you fay fo, I hope you will not kill me,
Oth. Hum.

Def. And yet I fear you: for you're fatal then,

When your eyes rowl fo. Why I fhould fear I know not,
Since guilt I know not: yet I feel I fear.

Oth. Think on thy fins.

Def. They're loves I bear to you.

Oth. Ay, and for that thou dy'ft.

Def. That death's unnatural; 7'what! kill for loving! Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?

your very frame;

Some bloody paffion fhakes your very

These are portents: but yet I hope, I hope,

They do not point on me.

Oth. Peace, and be still.

Def. I will fo: what's the matter?

Oth. That handkerchief

Which I fo lov'd, and gave thee, thou gav'it Caffio.
Def. No, by my life and foul: fend for the man,
And ask him.

Oth. Sweet foul, take heed, take heed of perjury,
Thou art on thy death-bed.

Def. Ay, but not yet to die.

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Oth. Yes, presently.

Therefore confefs thee freely of thy fin:

For to deny each article with oath,

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Cannot

Cannot remove, nor choak, the strong conception
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.
Def. Oh, heav'n have mercy on me!
Oth. I fay, amen!

Def. And have you mercy too! I never did
Offend you in my life; never lov'd Caffio,
But with fuch general warranty of heav'n,
As I might love. I never gave him token.

Oth. By heav'n, I faw my handkerchief in's hand.
Oh perjur'd woman! thou doft stone my heart,
And mak'ft me call, what I intend to do,

A murther, which I thought a facrifice.

I faw the handkerchief.

Def. He found it then;

I never gave it him; fend for him hither,
Let him confefs a truth.

Oth. He hath confeft.

Def. What, my Lord?

Oth. That he hath us'd thee

Def. How? unlawfully?

Oth. Ay.

Def. He will not fay fo.

Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd;

Honeft lago hath ta'en order for❜t.

Def. My fear 'interprets. Oh! what, is he dead? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge Had ftomach for them all.

Def. Alas, he is betray'd, and 'I'm` undone.

Oth. Out, ftrumpet! weep'ft thou for him to my face? Def. Oh banish me, my Lord, but kill me not.

Oth. Down, ftrumpet.

Def. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.

Oth. Nay, if you ftrive

Def. But half an hour

Otb. It is too late,

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SCENE.

SCENE VII.

Emilia at the door.

[my Lord!

Emil. My Lord! my Lord! what hoa! my Lord, Otb. What noife is this? not dead? not yet quite dead?

I that am cruel, am yet merciful,

I would not have thee linger in thy pain.

So, fo.

Emil. What hoa! my Lord, my Lord!

Oth. Who's there?

[you.

Emil. Oh, my good Lord, I would speak a word with

Oth. Yes, 'tis Emilia

by and by -fhe's dead.

'Tis like fhe comes to fpeak of Caffio's death;

The noife was high. Ha, no more moving?

Still as the grave. Shall fhe come in? were't good?

I think the ftirs again

No what's the beft?

If the come in, fhe'll fure fpeak to my wife;

My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
Oh infupportable! oh heavy hour!

Methinks it fhould be now a huge eclipfe

Of fun and moon, and that th' affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration

Emil. I befeech you

That I may fpeak with you. Oh, good my Lord!Oth. I had forgot thee; oh come in, Emilia.

Soft, by and by, let me the curtains draw.

Where art thou? what's the matter with thee now?

Enter Emilia.

[Unlocks the door.

Emil. Oh, my good Lord, yonder's foul murthers done.

Oth. What? now?

Emil. But now, my Lord.

Oth. It is the very error of the moon,

She comes more near the earth than she was wont,

And makes men mad.

Emil. Caffio, my Lord, hath kill'd

A young Venetian, call'd Rederigo.

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Oth.

Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Caffio kill'd?
Emil. No, Caffio is not kill'd.

Oth. Not Caffio kill'd? then murther's out of tune, And fweet revenge grows harfh.

Def. Oh falfely, falfely murther'd!

Emil. Alas! what cry is that?
Oth. That? what?

Emil. Out and alas, that was my Lady's voice.
Help! help, hoa! help! oh Lady, speak again;
Sweet Defdemona, oh fweet miftrefs, fpeak.

Def. A guiltless death I die.

Emil. Oh who hath done this deed?

Def. No body, I my self, farewel ;

Commend me to my kind Lord; oh farewel!

[Dies.

Oth. Why, how fhould fhe be murther'd?
Emil. Alas! who knows?

Oth. You heard her fay her felf, it was not I.
Emil. She faid fo, I muft needs report the truth.
Oth. She's like a liar gone to burning hell,

'Twas I that kill'd her.

[devil. Emil. Oh the more angel fhe, and you the blacker

Oth. She turn'd to folly, and fhe was a whore.
Emil. Thou doft belie her, and thou art a devil.
Oth. She was false as water.

Emil. Thou art rafh as fire, to fay

That she was falfe. Oh fhe was heav'nly true.
Oth. Caffio did tup her; ask thy husband elfe.
Oh, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell.
But that I did proceed upon juft grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.
Emil. My husband!

Oth. Thy husband.

Emil. That fhe was falfe to wedlock?
Oth. Ay, with Caffio: had fhe been true,

If heav'n would make me fuch another world,
Of one entire and perfect chryfolite,

I'd not have fold her for it.

Emil. My husband!

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Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me firft; An honeft man he is, and hates the flime That sticks on filthy deeds.

Emil. My husband!

Oth. What needs this iteration, woman? I fay thy husband.

Emil. Oh mistress! villainy has made mocks with love. My husband fay she was falfe!

Oth. He, woman;

I fay thy husband; doft understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honeft, honeft Iago.
Emil. If he fay fo, may his pernicious foul
Rot half a grain a-day! he lies to th' heart.
She was too fond of her moft filthy bargain.
Oth. Hah!

Emil. Do thy worst :

This deed of thine is no more worthy heav'n,
Than thou waft worthy her.

Oth. Peace, you were best.

Emil. Thou haft not half that power to do me harm
As I have to bear hurt: oh gull! oh dolt !
As ignorant as dirt; thou'ft done a deed

I care not for thy fword, I'll make thee known,
Though I loft twenty lives - Help! help, hoa! help!
The Moor hath kill'd my miftrefs. Murther, murther!
SCE NE VIII.

Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others.
Mon. What is the matter? how now, General ?
Emil. Oh, are you come, Iago? you have done well,
That men must lay their murthers on your neck.

Gra. What is the matter?

Emil. Difprove this villain, if thou be'ft a man ;
He fays thou told'ft him that his wife was falfe:
I know thou didst not, thou'rt not fuch a villain.
Speak, for my heart is full,

lago;

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