Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?

Enter Emilia.

[Unlocks the door.

Amil. Oh, my good Lord! yonder's foul murder done.

Oth. What! now?

Emil. But now, my Lord.

Oth. It is the very error of the moon;
She comes more near the earth than the was wont,
And makes men mad.

Emil. Caffio, my Lord, hath kill'd

A young Venetian, called Raderigo.

Oth. Roderigo kill'd? and Caffio kill'd?

Emil. No, Caffio is not kill'd.

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Oth. Not Caffio kill'd? Then murder's out of tune,

And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Def. Oh, falsely, falsely murdered!

Emil. Alas! what cry is that?

Oth. That? what?

;

Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.

Help! help, ho! help! oh, lady, speak again!

Sweet Desdemona! oh, sweet mistress, speak!

Def. A guiltless death I die.

Emil. Oh, who hath done this deed?

Def. Nobody, I myself. Farewel!

Commend me to my kind Lord. Oh, farewel!

[Dies.

Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd?

Emil. Alas! who knows?

Oth. You heard her fay, herself; it was not I.
Emil. 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.

Emil. Oh, the more angel she, and you the blacker devil!
Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

Emil. Thou dost belye her, and thou art a devil.
Oth. She was false as water.

Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say

That she was false. Oh, she was heavenly true.
Oth. Caffio did tup her: ask thy husband else.
Oh, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,

But

But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

Emil. My husband?

Oth. Thy husband.

Emil. That she was false to wedlock?

Oth. Ay, with Caffio.

1

Had she been true,

If heaven would make me fuch another world

Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,

I'd not have fold her for it.

Emil. My husband?

Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me firft;
An honest man he is, and hates the flime

That sticks on filthy deeds..

Emil. My husband?

Oth. What needs this iteration, woman?

I say, thy husband.

Emil. Oh mistress! villainy has made mocks with love.
My husband say she was falfe!

Oth. He, woman;

I say, thy husband; dost understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honeft, honest lago.

Emil. If he fay so, may his pernicious foul
Rot half a grain a day; he lyes to the heart.
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.
Oth. Hah!-

Emil. Do thy worst.

This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven,.
Than thou wast worthy her.

Oth. Peace, you were best.

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do me harm,

As I have to be hurt. Oh gull! oh dolt!
As ignorant as dirt! thou'st done a deed-
I care not for thy fword-I'll make thee known,
Though I loft twenty lives-Help! help, ho! help!
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murder! murder!

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