Page:Shakespeare - First Folio Faithfully Reproduced, Methuen, 1910.djvu/852

336 Oth. Amen, with all my heart.

Des. If you say, I hope you will not kill me.

Oth. Humh.

Des. And yet I feare you: for you're fatall then When your eyes rowle so. Why I should feare, I know not, Since guiltinesse I know not: But yet I feele I feare.

Oth. Thinke on thy sinnes.

Des. They are Loues I beare to you.

Oth. I, and for that thou dy'st.

Des. That death's vnnaturall, that kils for louing. Alas, why gnaw you so your nether-lip? Some bloody passion shakes your very Frame: These are portents: but yet I hope, I hope, They do not point on me.

Oth. Peace, and be still.

Des. I will so: What's the matter?

Oth. That Handkerchiefe Which I so lou'd, and gaue thee, thou gau'st to Cassio.

Des. No by my Life, and Soule: send for the man, And aske him.

Oth. Sweet Soule, take heed, take heed of Periury, Thou art on thy death-bed.

Des. I, but not yet to dye.

Oth. Presently. Therefore confesse thee freely of thy sinne: For to deny each Article with Oath, Cannot remoue, nor choake the strong Conception That I do grone withall. Thou art to dye.

Des. O Heauen haue mercy on me.

Oth. I say, Amen.

Des. And haue you mercy too. I neuer did Offend you in my life: neuer lou'd Cassio, But with such generall warrantie of Heauen, As I might loue. I neuer gaue him Token.

Oth. By Heauen I saw my Handkerchiefe in's hand. O periur'd woman, thou do'st stone my heart, And makes me call, what I intend to do, A Murther, which I thought a Sacrifice. I saw the Handkerchiefe.

Des. He found it then: I neuer gaue it him: Send, for him hither: Let him confesse a truth.

Oth. He hath confest.

Des. What, my Lord?

Oth. That he hath vs'd thee.

Des. How? vnlawfully?

Oth. I.

Des. He will not say so.

Oth. No: his mouth is stopp'd: Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't.

Des. Oh, my feare interprets. What is he dead?

Oth. Had all his haires bin liues, my great Reuenge Had stomacke for them all.

Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I vndone.

Oth. Out Strumpet: weep'st thou for him to my face?

Des. O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not.

Oth. Downe Strumpet.

Des. Kill me to morrow, let me liue to night.

Oth. Nay, if you striue.

Des. But halfe an houre.

Oth. Being done, there is no pawse.

Des. But while I say one prayer.

Oth. It is too late.

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 cruell, am yet mercifull, I would not haue thee linger in thy paine? So, so.

Æmil. within. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord?

Oth. Who's there?

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

Oth. Yes: 'Tis Æmilia: by and by. Shee's dead. 'Tis like she comes to speake of Cassio's death: The noise was high. Hah, no more moouing? Still as the Graue. Shall she come in? Wer't good? I thinke she stirres againe. No, what's best to do? If she come in, shee'l sure speake to my wife: My wife, my wife: what wife? I haue no wife. Oh insupportable! Oh heauy houre! Me thinkes, it should be now a huge Eclipse Of Sunne, and Moone; and that th'affrighted Globe Did yawne at Alteration.

Æmil. I do beseech you That I may speake with you. Oh good my Lord.

Oth. I had forgot thee: oh come in Æmilia. Soft, by and by, let me the Curtaines draw. Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?

Æmil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done.

Oth. What? now?

Æmil. But now, my Lord.

Oth. It is the very error of the Moone, She comes more neerer Earth then 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 Reuenge growes harsh.

Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd.

Æmil. Alas! what cry is that?

Oth. That? What?

Æmil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice. Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe, Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake.

Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye.

Æmil. Oh who hath done this deed?

Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell: Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell.

Oth. Why, how should she be murdred?

Æmil. Alas: who knowes?

Oth. You heare her say her selfe, it was not I.

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

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

Æmil. Oh the more Angell she, and you the blacker Diuell.

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

Æmil. Thou do'st bely her, and thou art a diuell.

Oth. She was false as water.

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

Oth. Cassio did top her: Ask thy husband else. O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell: But that I did proceed vpon iust grounds To this extremity. Thy Husband knew it all.