Oth. Out, ftrumpet! Weep'ít thou for him to my

face?
Def. Oh banish me, my Lord, but kill me not.
Oih. Down, strumpet.
Des. Kill me co-morrow, let me live to-night.
Otb. Nay, if you strive-
Def, But half an hour.
Oih. Being done, there is no pause.
Def. But while I say one prayer.
Dih. It is too lace.

(He (mothers ber.

SCENE VII.

Æmilia, at the door,

my Lord !

Æmil. My Lord, my Lord! What hoa! my Lord,
Oth. What noise is this? Not dead ? not yet quite

dead ?
I, that am cruel, am yet merciful;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
So, fo.

Æmil. within.) What hoa! my Lord, my Lord!
Olb. Who's there?
Æmil. Oh, my good Lord, I would speak a word

with you.

Oib. Yes, 'tis Æmilia.-By and by-She's dead. 'Tis like, she comes to speak of Casio's death ; The noise was high.-Ha, no more moving ? Still as the Grave. Shall she come in? Were'i good ? I think, she stirs again. No. What's the best? If she come in, she'll, fure, speak to my wife ? My wife! my wife! What wife? I have no wife. Oh insupportable ! oh heavy hour! Methinks, it should be now a huge eclipse

Of

Of Sun, and Moon, and that th' affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

Èmil. I do beseech you, I may speak with you. Oh, good my Lord!

Otb. I had forgot thee: oh, come in, Æmilia. Soft. By and by. Let me the curtains draw. Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?

[Unlocks the door.

Enter Æmilia.

Æmil. Oh, my good Lord, yonder's foul murder

done. Oth. What? now? Æmil. But now, my Lord.

Oth. It is the very error of the Moon; She comes more near the Earth chan she was wont, And makes men mad.

Æmil. Caffio, my Lord, hath kill'd
A young Venetian, cailed Roderigo.

Otb. Roderigo kill'd? and Casio kill'd ?
Æmil. No, Caffio is not kill'd.

Olb. Not Casio kill'd? Then murder's out of tune, And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Def. Oh, fally, fally murder'd!
Æmil. Alas! what cry is that?
Orb. That? what?

Æmil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice. Help! help, hoa! help! oh lady, sprak again ; Sweet Desdemona ! oh sweet mistress, speak.

Def. A guiltless death I die.
Æmil. Oh, who hath done this deed ?

Des. No body, I myself. Farewel;
Command me to my kind Lord. Oh, Farewel. [Dies.

Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ?
Æmil, Alas! who knows?
Olh. You heard her say, herself, it was not I.

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

Oib. She's like a lyar gone to burning hell; 'Twas I, that kill'd her. Æmil. Oh, the more Angel she, and you the

blacker Devil.
Oth. She curn’d to folly, and she was a whore.
Æmil. Thou doft bely her, and thou art a Devil.
Oib. She was 7 false as water.

Æmil. Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was falfe. Oh, she was heavenly true.

Oth. Casio did tup her : ask thy husband else.
Oh, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

Æmil. My husband!
Oıb. Thy husband.
Æmil. That she was false to wedlock ?

Oth. Ay, with Casio. Had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another World,
Of one entire and perfect Chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.

Æmil. My husband !

Otb. Ay, 'twas he that told me first; An honest man he is, and hates the nime That sticks on filthy deeds.

Æmil. My husband !

Oth. What needs this iteration, woman? I say, thy husband. Æmil. Ob mistress ! : villainy has made mocks wish

love.
My husband say, she was false!

Och. He, woman;
I say, tby husband; doʻst understand the word?

7-falje as water.] As water that will fupport no weight, nor keep any impresion.

-villainy has made mock:

with love.) Villainy has taken advantage to play upon the weakness of a violent passion.

My

My friend, thy bufband, bonest, bonest lago.

#mil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul Rot half a grain a day! he lyes o'ch' heart. She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

Oib. Hah!

Æmil. Do thy worst.
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven,
Than thou waft worthy her.

Oth. Peace, you were best.
Æmil. 9 Thou haft not half that power to do me

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

Enter Montano Gratiano, Iago, and others.
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;

9 Thou hast not half that power ters, As I have to be hurl, 10, to do me harm,

As I bare 10 bear hurr : which As I have to be hurt :-) Power yer does not mend the matter, for will: For will signifying had the poet here used power in both ability and inclination, and the sense of ability. WARB. power fignifying ability, he uses The Oxford editor faw well the power for inclination. But the meaning of his authour, but Oxford Editor, not understand- weakened his expresiion. She ing his author's phraseology any means to say, I bave in this cause better when he had ended than power to endure more than thou when he had begun with him, al- boft power to inflia.

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

lago. I told him what I thought; and cold 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 cold a lye ; an odious, damned, lye : Upon my soul, a lye; a wicked lye. She false with Casho? Did you fay, with Cassio ? lago. With Caffio, mistress. Go to. Charm your

tongue. Æmil. I will not charm my tongue ; I'm bound to

speak;
My mistress lies bere murder'd in her bed.

All. Ob beavens forefend !
Æmil. And your reports have set the murderer on.
Oth. Nay, stare noi, masters. It is true, indeed.
Gra. 'Tis a strange truth.
Mon. Ob monstrous aël !

Æmil. Villainy! villainy! villainy !
I think upon't-I think I smell'Ob villainy,
I thought so then ; I'll kill mnyfélf for grief,
Ob villainy, villainy !
Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you

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

Otb. Oh! oh! oh! LOthello falls on the bed. Æmil. Nay, lay thee down and roar :

- Charm your tongue. ] improbable, that Shakespeare I know not whether I have read, wrote clam your tongue; to clam or whether my own thoughts a beil is to cover the clapper have sugge?ed, an alteration of with felt, which drowns the blow, ibis paflage. It fems to me not and hinders the found.

For