Page:Shakespeare - First Folio Faithfully Reproduced, Methuen, 1910.djvu/854

338 Oth. I am not valiant neither: But euery Punie whipster gets my Sword. But why should Honor out-liue Honesty? Let it go all.

Æmil. What did thy Song boad Lady? Hearke, canst thou heare me? I will play the Swan, And dye in Musicke: Willough, Willough, Willough. Moore, she was chaste: She lou'd thee, cruell Moore, So come my Soule to blisse, as I speake true: So speaking as I thinke, alas, I dye.

Oth. I haue another weapon in this Chamber, It was a Sword of Spaine, the Ice brookes temper: Oh heere it is: Vnkle I must come forth.

Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee deere; Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

Oth. Looke in vpon me then, and speake with me, Or naked as I am I will assault thee.

Gra. What is the matter?

Othel. Behold, I haue a weapon: A better neuer did it selfe sustaine Vpon a Soldiers Thigh. I haue seene the day, That with this little Arme, and this good Sword, I haue made my way through more impediments Then twenty times your stop. But (oh vaine boast) Who can controll his Fate? 'Tis not so now. Be not affraid, though you do see me weapon'd: Heere is my iournies end, heere is my butt And verie Sea-marke of my vtmost Saile. Do you go backe dismaid? 'Tis a lost feare: Man but a Rush against Othello's brest, And he retires. Where should Othello go? Now: how dost thou looke now? Oh ill-Starr'd wench, Pale as thy Smocke: when we shall meete at compt, This looke of thine will hurle my Soule from Heauen, And Fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girle? Euen like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slaue! Whip me ye Diuels, From the possession of this Heauenly sight: Blow me about in windes, roast me in Sulphure, Wash me in steepe-downe gulfes of Liquid fire. Oh Desdemon! dead Desdemon: dead. Oh, oh!

Lod. Where is this rash, and most vnfortunate man?

Oth. That's he that was Othello: heere I am.

Lod. Where is that Viper? Bring the Villaine forth.

Oth. I look down towards his feet; but that's a Fable, If that thou bee'st a Diuell, I cannot kill thee.

Lod. Wrench his Sword from him.

Iago. I bleed Sir, but not kill'd.

Othel. I am not sorry neither, Il'd haue thee liue: For in my sense, 'tis happinesse to die.

Lod. Oh thou Othello, that was once so good, Falne in the practise of a cursed Slaue, What shall be saide to thee.

Oth. Why any thing: An honourable Murderer, if you will: For nought I did in hate, but all in Honour.

Lod. This wretch hath part confest his Villany: Did you and he consent in Cassio's death.

Oth. I.

Cas. Deere Generall, I neuer gaue you cause.

Oth. I do beleeue it, and I aske your pardon: Will you, I pray, demand that demy-Diuell, Why he hath thus ensnar'd my Soule and Body.

Iag. Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: From this time forth, I neuer will speake word.

Lod. What? not to pray?

Gra. Torments will ope your lips.

Oth. Well, thou dost best.

Lod. Sir, You shall vnderstand what hath befalne, (Which, as I thinke, you know not) heere is a Letter Found in the pocket of the slaine Rodorigo, And heere another, the one of them imports The death of Cassio, to be vndertooke By Rodorigo.

Oth. O Villaine!

Cassio. Most Heathenish, and most grosse.

Lod. Now, heere's another discontented paper Found in his pocket too: and this it seems Rodorigo meant t'haue sent this damned villaine: But that (belike) Iago in the interim Came in, and satisfi'd him.

Oth. Oh thou pernitious Caitiffe; How came you (Cassio) by that Handkerchiefe That was my wiues?

Cassio. I found it in my Chamber: And he himselfe confest it but euen now, That there he dropt it for a speciall purpose, Which wrought to his desire.

Othel. O Foole, foole, foole!

Cassio. There is besides, in Rodorigo's Letter, How he vpbraides Iago, that he made him Braue me vpon the Watch: whereon it came That I was cast: and euen but now he spake (After long seeming dead) Iago hurt him, Iago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this roome, and go with vs: Your Power, and your Command is taken off, And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this Slaue, If there be any cunning Crueltie, That can torment him much, and hold him long, It shall be his. You shall close Prisoner rest, Till that the Nature of your fault be knowne To the Venetian State. Come, bring away.

Oth. Soft you; a word or two before you goe: I haue done the State some seruice, and they know't: No more of that. I pray you in your Letters, When you shall these vnluckie deeds relate, Speake of me, as I am. Nothing extenuate, Nor set downe ought in malice. Then must you speake, Of one that lou'd not wisely, but too well: Of one, not easily Iealious, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreame: Of one, whose hand (Like the base Iudean) threw a Pearle away Richer then all his Tribe: Of one, whose subdu'd Eyes, Albeit vn-vsed to the melting moode, Drops teares as fast as the Arabian Trees Their Medicinable gumme. Set you downe this: And say besides, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant, and a Turbond-Turke Beate a Venetian, and traduc'd the State, I tooke by th'throat the circumcised Dogge, And smoate him, thus.

Lod. Oh bloody period.

Gra. All that is spoke, is marr'd.

Oth. I kist thee, ere I kill'd thee: No way but this, Killing my selfe, to dye vpon a kisse.