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An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: That song, to-night,
Will not go from my mind; I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side,"
And sing like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch.
Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown?
Des. No, unpin me here.-

This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emil. A very handsome man.
Des. And he speaks well.

Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether lip.

Des. The

I.

poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow;

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,

Sing willow, willow, willow:

[Singing

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans ; Sing willow, &c.

Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;

Lay by these:

Sing willow, willow, willow;

Pr'ythee, hie thee; he'll come anon.—

Sing all a green willow must be my garlánd.

II.

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,

Nay, that's not next.-Hark! who is it that knocks?
Emil. It is the wind.

Des. I call'd

my love false love; but what said he then? Sing willow, &c.

If I court mo women, you'll couch with mo men.

So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch ;
Doth that bode weeping?

Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there.

Des. I have heard it said so.-O, these men, these men !-Dost thou in conscience think,-tell me, Emilia,

[7] I have much ado to do any thing but hang my head. We might read, Not to hang my head.--This is perhaps the only insertion made in the latter editions which has improved the play. The rest seem to have been added for the sake of amplification, or of ornament. When the imagination had subsided, and the mind was no longer agitated by the horror of the action, it became at leisure to look round for specious additions. This addition is natural, Desdemona can at first hardly forbear to sing the song; she endeavours to change her train of thoughts, but her imagination at last prevails, and she sings it. JOHNSON.

That there be women do abuse their husbands

In such gross kind?

Emil. There be some such, no question.

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? Emil. Why, would not you?

Des. No, by this heavenly light!

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light;

I might do't as well i'the dark.

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world? Emil. The world is a huge thing: 'Tis a great price For a small vice.

Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not.

Emil. By my troth, I think I should; and undo't, when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring; nor for measures of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition: but, for the whole world,-Why, who would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'the world; and, having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your Own world, and you might quickly make it right.

Des. I do not think there is any such woman.

Emil. Yes, a dozen; and as many

To the vantage, as would store the world they play'd for.
But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults,

If wives do fall: Say, that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps;

Or else break out in peevish jealousies,

Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us,
Or scant our former having in despite ;

Why, we have galls; and, though we have some grace,
Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know,
Their wives have sense like them; they see, and smell,
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do,
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think it is; And doth affection breed it?
I think, it doth; Is't frailty, that thus errs?
It is so too: And have not we affections?
Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have?
Then, let them use us well: else, let them know,

The ills we do, their ills instruct us to.

Des. Good night, good night. Heaven me such usage

send,

Not to pick bad from bad; but, by bad, mend!

[Exe.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE I.-A Street. Enter IAGO and RODERIGO.

lago. HERE, stand behind this bulk; straight will he

come.

Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home;

Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow.
It makes us, or it mars us; think on that,

And fix most firm thy resolution.

Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't.

Iago. Here, at thy hand; be bold, and take thy sword.

[Retires to a little distance.

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed; And yet he has given me satisfying reasons :'Tis but a man gone :-Forth, my sword; he dies.

[Goes to his stand. Iago. I have rubb'd this young quats almost to the sense,

And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,

Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,

Every way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,
He calls me to a restitution large

Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him.
As gifts to Desdemona

;

It must not be if Cassio do remain,

He hath a daily beauty in his life,

That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor

May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril :
No, he must die :-But so, I hear him coming.
Enter CASSIO.

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Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he ;-Villain, thou diest. [Rushes from his post, and makes a pass at CASSIO. Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, But that my coat is better than thou think'st;

[8] A quat, in the midland counties, is a pimple, which by rubbing is made to smart, or is rubbed to sense. Roderigo is called à quat by the same mode of speech, as a low fellow is now termed in low language, a scab. T'o rub to the sense, is to rub to the quick. JOHNSON.

I will make proof of thine.
Rod. O, I am slain !

[Draws and wounds ROD. [IAGO rushes from his post, cuts CASSIO behind in the leg, and exit.

Cas. I am maim'd for ever:-Help, ho! murder! murder!

Enter OTHELLO, at a distance.

Oth. The voice of Cassio :-Iago keeps his word.
Rod. O, villain that I am!

Oth. Hark; 'tis even so.

Cas. O, help! ho! light! a surgeon!

[Falls

Oth. 'Tis he ;-O brave Iago, honest, and just, That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong! Thou teachest me,-Minion, your dear lies dead, And your fate hies apace :-Strumpet, I come : Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted ; Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be spotted.

[Exit

Enter LODOVICO and GRATIANO, at a distance. Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage? murder!

murder!

Gra. 'Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.
Cas. O, help!

Lod. Hark!

Rod. O wretched villain!

Lod. Two or three groans ;-it is a heavy night :'
These may be counterfeits; let's think't unsafe
To come in to the cry, without more help.

Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to death.
Enter IAGO, with a light.

Lod. Hark!

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and

weapons.

Iago. Who's there? whose noise is this, that cries out murder?

Lod. We do not know.

lago. Did you not hear a cry?

Cas. Here, here; for heaven's sake, help me.

Iago. What's the matter?

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it.

Lod. The same, indeed; a very valiant fellow.
Iago. What are you here that cry so grievously?
Cas. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains!

No passengers? Nobody going by? JOHNSON.

[1] A thick cloudy night, in which an ambush may be laid.

JOHNSON.

62

Give me some help.

Iago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have done this?
Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout,

And cannot make away.

Iago. O treacherous villains!

What are you there? come in, and give some help.

Rod. O, help me here!

Cas. That's one of them.

[To LoD. and Gra.

lago. O murderous slave! O villain! [IAGO stabs Rod. Rod. O damned Iago! O inhuman dog!

! O! O!

Iago. Kill men i'the dark!-Where be these bloody
thieves?-

How silent is this town!-Ho! murder! murder !
What may you be? are you of good, or evil?
Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us.
Iago. Signior Lodovico ?

Lod. He, sir.

Jago. I cry you mercy; here's Cassio hurt

By villains.

Gra. Cassio?

Jago. How is it, brother?

Cas. My leg is cut in two.

lago. Marry, heaven forbid !

Light, gentlemen; I'll bind it with my shirt.

Enter BIANCA.

Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't that cry'd?

Iago. Who is't that cry'd?

Bian. O my dear Cassio! my sweet Cassio!

O Cassio! Cassio! Cassio!

Iago. O notable strumpet!-Cassio, may you suspect Who they should be, that have thus mangled you? Cas. No.

Gra. I am sorry, to find you thus: I have been to

seek you.

lago. Lend me a garter: So.-O, for a chair,

To bear him easily hence!

Bian. Alas, he faints :-O Cassio! Cassio! Cassio!
Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash

To be a party in this injury.

Patience a while, good Cassio.-Come, come;
Lend me a light.-Know we this face, or no?

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