For thou haft kill'd the sweeteft Innocent,

That e'er did lift up eye.

Oth. Oh, fhe was foul!

[Rifing I scarce did know you, Uncle. There lies your Niece, Whose breath, indeed, thefe hands have newly ftopp'd. I know, this act fhews horrible and grim.

Gra. Poor Defdemona! 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 fight would make him do a defperate turn;
Yea, curfe his better Angel from his fide,
And fall to reprobation.

Oth. 'Tis pitiful; but yet lago knows,
That the with Caffio had the act of shame
A thousand times committed. Coffio confeft it;
And fhe did gratify his amorous works,
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I faw it in his hand;
It was an handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

Emil. Oh heaven! oh heavenly Powers!
Iago. Come, hold your peace.

Emil. '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 fhame against me, yet I'll speak.

Iago. Be wife, and get you home.

Emil. I will not.

[lago offers to ftab his wife.

Gra. Fy, your fword upon a woman?

Emil. Oh, thou dull Moor! That handkerchief,

thou speak'st of,

I found by fortune, and did give my husband;

A thousand times committed--] This is another paffage which feems to fuppofe a longer space

comprifed in the action of this play than the fcenes include.

For

For often, with a folemn earnestness,

More than, indeed, belong'd to fuch a trifle,
He begg❜d of me to steal it.

Iago. Villainous whore !

Emil. She gave it Caffio ?-alas, I found it, And I did giv't my husband.

Iago. Filth, thou lieft.

Emil. By heav'n, I do not; I do not, gentlemen. Oh murd'rous coxcomb! what fhould fuch a fool Do with fo good a wife?

[The Moor runs at Iago, who breaks through and wounds his wife; then runs out.

Oth. Are there no ftones in heav'n,

But what ferve for the thunder? Precious villain! Gra. The woman falls; fure, he has killed his wife. Emil. Ay, ay; oh, lay me by my mistress' fide. Grd. 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 fame villain, For 'tis a damned slave.

[Exeunt Mon. and Gra.

SCENE IX.

Orb. I am not valiant neither;

But every puny whipfter gets my fword.
But why fhould honour outlive honefty?
Let it go all.

Emil. What did thy Song bode, lady? Hark, can't thou bear me? I will play the fwan, And die in mufick. Willow, Willow, WillowMoor, fhe was chafte; fhe lov'd thee, cruel Moor; So come my foul to bliss, as I fpeak true; So fpeaking as I think, alas, I die.

[Æmilia dies. Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber, It was a fword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper; Oh, here it is. Uncle I must come forth.

Gra. [within.] If thou attempt it, it will coft thee
dear;

Thou haft no weapon, and perforce muft fuffer.
Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me,
Or, naked as I am, I will affault thee.

Re-enter Gratiano.

Gra. What is the matter?
Oth. Lo! I have a weapon:
A better never did itself fuftain

Upon a foldier's thigh. I've feen the day,
That with this little arm, and this good fword,
I've made my way thro' more impediments,

Than twenty times your ftop. But, oh vain boast!
What can controul his fate? 'tis not fo now.

Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, bere is my Butt,

The very fea-mark of my utmost fail.
Do you go back difmay'd? 'tis a loft fear:
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,

POPE

4-the icebrook's temper ;] In world are the Catalonian fufees. the first edit on it is, febrake's, temper. Thence corrupted, to Ice-brook's.-Ebro's temper; the waters of that river of Spain, are particularly famous for tempering of teel. The finest arms in the

I believe the old reading changed to ice-brook is right, Steel is hardened by being put red hot into very cold water.

And

And be retires. Where should Othello go?
Now-how doft thou look now? ob ill-ftarr'd Wench!
Pale as thy fmock! When we fhall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my foul from heav'n,
And fiends will fnatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girl,
Ev'n like thy chastity. O curfed slave!
Whip me, ye Devils,

From the poffeffion of this heavenly fight;
Blow me about in winds, roaft me in fulphur,
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire.
Oh Defdemona! Defdemona! dead, dead! oh, oh!

Enter Lodovico, Caffio led in wounded, Montano, and
Iago prifoner, with Officers.

Lod. Where is this rafh and moft unfortunate man?
Oth. That's he, that was Othello. Here I am.
Lod. Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth.
Oth. 1 look down tow'rds his feet; but that's a

fable.

If that thou be'ft a Devil, I cannot kill thee.

(Othello wounds Iago.

Lod. Wrench his fword from him.

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

Oth. I am not forry, neither. I'd have thee live. For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod. Ch thou, Othello, that waft once fo good,
Fall'n in the practice of a cursed slave,
What shall be faid to thee?

Oth. Why, any thing;

An honourable murd'rer, if you will,

For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.

5-tow'rds b's feet;-] To fee

if, according to the common opi- fnare, by the fratagem.

nion, his feet be cloven.

Hh 2

6-in the practice-] In the

Lod.

Lod. This wretch hath part confeft h s villainy. Did you and he confent in Caffio's death?

Oth. Ay.

Caf. Dear General, I never gave you Cause. Oth. I do believe it, and I afk your pardon. Will you, I pray, demand that demy-devil, Why he hath thus enfnar'd my foul and body? Iago. Demand me nothing. What you know, you

know.

From this time forth I never will speak word.
Lod. What? not to pray?

Gra. Torments will ope your lips.

Oth. Well, thou dost best.

Lod. Sir, you fhall understand what hath befall'n, Which, as I think, you know. Here is a letter, Found in the pocket of the flain Roderigo,

And here, another; one of them imports
The death of Caffio to be undertook

By Rodorigo.

Oth. Oh villain!

Caf. Mot heathenish and moft gross!

Lod. Now, here's another difcontented paper,
Found in his pocket too; and this, it feems,
Roderigo meat t' have fent this damned villain,
But that, belike, logo in the interim
Came in and fatisfy'd him.

Oth. O thou pernicious caitiff!

How came you, Caffio, by that handkerchief
That was my wife's?

Caf. I found it in my chamber;

And he himflf confeft it but ev'n now,
That there he dropt it for a special purpose,

Which wrought to his efire.

Oth. Oh foul, fool, fool!

7 in the interim] The revifal, that rik was too famifir copies have, in the nick. It liar.

was, I fappofe, thought upon

Caf.