Whose breath indeed, thefe hands haue newly stopt,
I know this act shewes terrible and grim.

Gra. Poore Desdemona, I am glad thy father's dead,
Thy match was mortall to him, and pure griefe,
* did he liue now,

Shore his old thread atwaine

:

This fight would make him doe a desperate turne,
Yea curse his better angell from his fide,

And fall to reprobation.

Oth. Tis pittifull, but yet lago knowes,
That the with Caffio, hath † the act of shame
A thousand timés committed; Caffio confeft it,
And she did gratifie his amorous workes,
With the recognifance and pledge of loue,
Which I first gaue her; I faw it in his hand,
It was a handkercher; an antique token
My father gaue my mother.

Em. O God, O heauenly God.

Jag. Zounst, hold your peace.

Em. 'Twill out, 'twill: I hold my peace fir, no,

I'le be in fpeaking, liberall as the ayre,

Let heauen, and men, and diuells, let em all,

All, all cry fhame against me, yet I'le fpeake.
Jag. Be wife, and get you home.

Em. I will not,

Gra. Fie, your fword vpon a woman?

Em. O thou dull Moore, that handkercher thou fpeakft

on,

I found by fortune, and did giue my husband:

For often with a folemne earneftneffe,

More then indeed belong'd to fuch a trifle,

He beg'd of me to steale it.

lag. Villainous whore.

Em.

Em. She gave it Caffio? no alas I found it, And I did giu't my husband.

lag. Filth thou lieft.

Em. By heauen I doe not, I doe not gentlemen, O murderous coxcombe! what should such a foole Doe with fo good a woman?

The Moore runnes at Iago, Iago kils his wife.

Oth. Are there no stones in heauen,

But what ferues for the thunder? pretious villaine.
Gra. The woman falls, fure he has kild his wife.
Em. I, I, O lay me by my mistresse fide,

Gra. Hee's gone, but his wife's kild.

Exit Iago.

Mon. Tis a notorious villaine, take your weapon,
Which I haue here recouered from the Moore:
Come, guard the dore without, let him not passe,
But kill him rather, I'le after that fame villaine,
For tis a damned flaue.

Oth. I am not valiant neither,

Exit Mont. and Gratiano.

But euery puny whipster gets my fword,
But why should honour out liue honesty?
Let it goe all.

Em.

Moore, fhe was chaft, fhe lou'd thee cruell Moore,

So come my foule to bliffe, as I fpeake true;
So fpeaking as I thinke, I die, I die.

Oth. I haue another weapon in this chamber, It is a fword of Spaine, the ifebrookes temper;

She dies.

◇ here

O here it is; vncle I must come forth.

Gra, within.

Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee deere, Thou haft no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Oth. Looke in vpon me then, and fpeake to me, Or naked as I am, I will affault thee.

Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. Behold, I haue a weapon,
A better neuer did it selfe sustaine

Vpon a fouldiers thigh: I haue feene the day,
That with this little arme, and this good fword,
I haue made my way through more impediments,
Then twenty times you ftop: but O vaine boast,
Who can controule his fate? tis not so now, キ

*

Pale as thy fmocke, when we we shall meete at count §,
This looke of thine, will hurle my foule from heauen,
And fiends will fnatch at it: cold, cold, my girle,
Euen like thy chastity; O curfed flaue:

Whippe me you diuells,

From the poffeffion of this heauenly fight,
Blow me about in winds, roast me in fulphure,
Wash me in steepe downe gulphes of liquid fire :
O Desdemona, Defdemoua, dead, O o, o.

your.

Be not affraid, though you doe fee me weapon'd;
Here is my iournies end, bere is my butte,
The very fea-marke of my utmost saile.
Doe you gee backe dismaid? tis a loft feare,
Man but a rush against Othello's breaft,
And be retires. Where fhould Othello go?
How doft thou looke now? O ill-fiar'd wench.
Pale, &c.

compte.

Enter

Dd3

Enter Lodouico, Montano, Iago, and officers.

Caffio in a chaire.

Lad. Where is this rafh and moft infortunate man.
Oth. That he that was Othello, here I am.

Lod. Where is this + viper, bring the villaine forth.

Oth. I looke downe towards his feet, but that's a fable If thou beeft a diuell, I cannot kill thee,

Lod. Wring this fword from him.

lag, I bleed fir, but not kil'd.

Oth. I am not forry neither, I'de haue thee liue,

For in my fenfe tis happineffe to die.

Lod. O thou Othello, that wert once so good,

Falne in the practise of a damned flaue,

What fhould be faid to thee?

Oth. Why any thing,

An honourable murderer if you will:

For nought did I in hate, but all in honour.

Lod. This wretch hath part confest his villainy :

Did you and he confent in Caffio's death?

Oth. I.

Caf. Deare generall, I did neuer giue you cause,
Oth. I doe beleeue it, and I aske you pardon,

Will you pray demand that demy diuell,
Why he hath thus infnar'd my foule and body?

Tag. Demand me nothing, what you know you know,

From this time forth I neuer will fpeake word.

Lod. What not to pray?

Grat. Torments will op'e your lips.

Oth. Well, thou doest best.

Lod. Sir, you shall vnderstand what hath befalne, Which, as I thinke you know not: here is a letter,

† that.

Wrench.

you I.

Found

Found in the pocket of the flaine Roderigo;
And here another; the one of them imports
The death of Caffio; to be vndertooke-by Roderigo.
Oth. O villaine.

Caf. Most heathenish, and most groffe.

Lod. Now heres another difcontented paper, Found in his pocket too, and this it feemes, Roderigo meant to haue fent this damned villaine, But that belike, lago, in the nicke *

Came in, and satisfied him.

Oth. O the pernitious catieffe !
How came you Caffio by a handkercher,
That was my wifes ?

Caf. I found it in my chamber,

And he himselfe confest it ‡ euen now,
That there he dropt it, for a speciall purpose ;
Which wrought to his defire.

Oth. O foole, foole, foole.

Caf. There is befides in Roderigoes letter
How he vpbraides lago, that he made him,
Braue me vpon the watch, whereon it came,
That I was caft; and euen but now he spake,
After long feeming dead, Iago hurt him,
Iago fet him on.

Lod. You muft forfake this roome, and goe with vs,
Your power and your command is taken off,
And Caffio rules in Cypres : for this flaue,
If there be any cunning cruelty,

That can torment him much, and hold him long,
It shall be his: you fhall clofe prifoner reft,
Till that the nature of your fault be knowne
To the Venetian State; come, bring him away.