Mon.
What is the matter? How now, General?

Æmil.
Oh, are you come, Iago? you have done well,
That men must lay their murders on your neck.

Gra.
What is the matter?

Æmil.
Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man;

He says, thou toldst him that his wife was false:
I know, thou didst not; thou'rt not such a villain.
Speak, for my heart is full.

Iago.
I told him what I thought; and told no more,
Than what he found himself was apt and true.

Æmil.
But did you ever tell him, she was false?

Iago.
I did.

Æmil.
You told a lye; an odious, damned, lye:
Upon my soul, a lye; a wicked lye.
She false with Cassio? Did you say, with Cassio?

Iago.
With Cassio, mistress. Go to. ^{1 note}Charm your tongue.

Æmil.
I will not charm my tongue; I'm bound to speak;
My mistress lies here murder'd in her bed.

All.
Oh heavens forefend!

Æmil.
And your reports have set the murderer on.

Oth.
Nay, stare not, masters. It is true, indeed.

Gra.
'Tis a strange truth.

Mon.
Oh monstrous act! Æmil.
Villainy! villainy! villainy!
I think upon't—I think—I smell't—Oh villainy!
I thought so then; I'll kill myself for grief,—
Oh villainy, villainy!

Iago.
What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.

Æmil.
Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak.
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

Oth.
Oh! oh! oh! [Othello falls on the bed.

Æmil.
Nay, lay thee down and roar:

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest Innocent,
That e'er did lift up eye.

Oth.
Oh, she was foul! [Rising.
I scarce did know you, Uncle. There lies your Niece,
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd.
I know, this act shews horrible and grim.

Gra.
Poor Desdemona! I'm glad, thy father's dead:
Thy match was mortal to him; and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now,
This sight would make him do a desperate turn;
Yea, curse his better Angel from his side,
And fall to reprobation.

Oth.
'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows,
That she with Cassio had the act of shame
^{2 note}A thousand times committed. Cassio confest it;
And she did gratify his amorous works,
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand;
It was an handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

Æmil.
Oh heaven! oh heavenly Powers!

Iago.
Come, hold your peace.

Æmil.
'Twill out, 'twill out—I hold my peace? Sir! no!
No, I will speak as liberal as the North;
Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all,
All, all cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Iago.
Be wise, and get you home.

Æmil.
I will not. [Iago offers to stab his wife.

Gra.
Fy, your sword upon a woman?

Æmil.
Oh, thou dull Moor! That handkerchief, thou speak'st of,
I found by fortune, and did give my husband;

For often, with a solemn earnestness,
More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,
He begg'd of me to steal it.

Iago.
Villainous whore!

Æmil.
She gave it Cassio?—alas, I found it,
And I did giv't my husband.

Iago.
Filth, thou liest.

Æmil.
By heav'n, I do not; I do not, gentlemen.
Oh murd'rous coxcomb! what should such a fool
Do with so good a wife? [The Moor runs at Iago, who breaks through and wounds his wife; then runs out.

Oth.
^{3 note}

Gra.
The woman falls; sure, he has kill'd his wife.

Æmil.
Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' side.

Gra.
He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

Mon.
'Tis a notorious villain; take this weapon,
Which I have here recover'd from the Moor.
Come, guard the door without, let him not pass,
But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain,
For 'tis a damned slave. [Exeunt Mon. and Gra.

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