Æmil.
Alas, what is the matter?
What is the matter, husband?

Iago.
Cassio hath there been set on in the dark
By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scap'd:
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.

Æmil.
Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!

Iago.
This is the fruit of whoring—Pray, Æmilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supt to-night.
What, do you shake at that?

Bian.
He supt at my house, but I therefore shake not.

Iago.
Oh, did he so? I charge you go with me.

Æmil.
Oh fy upon thee, strumpet!

Bian.
I am no strumpet, but of life as honest
As you that thus abuse me.

Æmil.
As I? fy upon thee!

Iago.
Kind gentlemen, let's see poor Cassio drest.
Come, mistress, you must tell's another tale.

Æmilia, run you to the citadel,
And tell my Lord and lady what hath happ'd.
Will you go on afore?—This is the night,
That either makes me, or foredoes me quite. [Exeunt, Iago following.

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