Iago.
Here, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come:
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home;
Quick, quick, fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow.
It makes us, or it marrs us: think on that,
And fix most firm thy resolution.

Rod.
Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't.

Iago.
Here, at thy hand. Be bold and take thy stand.

Rod.
I have no great devotion to the deed,
Yet he hath giv'n me satisfying reasons.
'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword. He dies. [Stands apart.

Iago.
^{9 note}

Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
Every way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,
He calls me to a restitution large
Of gold and jewels, that I bob'd from him,
As gifts to Desdemona.
It must not be.—If Cassio do remain,
He hath a daily beauty in his life,
That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor
May unfold me to him; there stand I in peril.
No, he must die. Be it so; I hear him coming. Enter Cassio.

Rod.
I know his gait; 'tis he.—Villain, thou diest. [He runs at Cassio, and wounds him.

Cas.
That thrust had been mine enemy indeed,
But that my coat is better than thou know'st.
I will make proof of thine. [Fight, Iago cuts Cassio behind in the Leg, and exit. [Then Roderigo and Cassio fall.

Rod.
Oh, I am slain.

Cas.
I'm maim'd for ever. Help, hoa! murder, murder!

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