Æmil.
My lord, my lord! what hoa! my lord, my lord!

Oth.
What noise 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, so.

Æmil. within.]
What hoa! my Lord, my Lord!

Oth.
Who's there?

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

&wlquo;Oth.
&wlquo;Yes, 'tis Æmilia—by and by—she's dead.
&wlquo;'Tis like, she comes to speak of Cassio's death;
&wlquo;The noise was high.—Ha, no more moving?
&wlquo;Still as the Grave. Shall she come in? were't good?
&wlquo;I think, she stirs again—No—what's the best?
&wlquo;If she come in, she'll, sure, speak to my wife;
&wlquo;My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
&wlquo;Oh insupportable! oh heavy hour!
&wlquo;Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipse
&wlquo;Of Sun, and Moon, and that th' affrighted globe
&wlquo;^{2 note}Should yawn at alteration—

Æmil.
I beseech you,
That I may speak with you. Oh, good my lord!—

Oth.
I had forgot thee; oh, come in, Æmilia.
Soft, by and by, let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou? what's the matter with thee now? [Unlocks the door. Enter Æmilia.

Æmil.
Oh, my good lord, yonder's foul murther done.

Oth.
What? now?

Æmil.
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.

Æmil.
Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'd
A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo.

Oth.
Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd?

Æmil.
No, Cassio is not kill'd.

Oth.
Not Cassio kill'd? then murther's out of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Des.
Oh, falsely, falsely murther'd!—

Æmil.
Alas! what cry is that?

Oth.
That? what?

Æmil.
Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.
Help! help, hoa! help! oh lady, speak again;
Sweet Desdemona! oh sweet mistress, speak.

Des.
A guiltless death I die.

Æmil.
Oh, who hath done this deed?

Des.
No body, I myself, farewel;
Commend me to my kind Lord; oh, farewel. [Dies.

Oth.
Why, how should she be murther'd?

Æmil.
Alas! who knows?

Oth.
You heard her say, herself, it was not I.

Æmil.
She said so, I must needs report the truth.

Oth.
She's like a lyar gone to burning hell;
'Twas I, that kill'd her.

Æmil.
Oh, the more Angel she, and you the blacker Devil.

Oth.
She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

Æmil.
Thou dost bely her, and thou art a Devil.

Oth.
She was false as water.

Æmil.
Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false. Oh, she was heav'nly true.

Oth.
Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
Oh, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

Æmil.
My husband!

Oth.
Thy husband.

Æmil.
That she was false to wedlock?

Oth.
Ay, with Cassio: had she been true,
If heav'n would make me such another World,
Of one entire and perfect Chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.

Æmil.
My husband!

Oth.
Ay, 'twas he that told me first:
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.

Æmil.
My husband!

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

Æmil.
^{3 note}Oh mistress! villany has made mocks with love.
My husband say, she was false!

Oth.
He, woman;
I say, thy husband; do'st understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.

Æmil.
If he say so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day! he lyes to th' heart.
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

Oth.
Hah!—

Æmil.
Do thy worst:
This deed of thine is no more worthy heav'n,
Than thou wast worthy her.

Oth.
Peace, you were best.

Æmil.
^{4 note}
Thou hast not half that power to do me harm,

As I have to be hurt: oh gull! oh dolt!
As ignorant as dirt! thou'st done a deed—
I care not for thy sword, I'll make thee known,
Though I lost twenty lives—Help! help, hoa; help!
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murther, murther!

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