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

Enter Emilia.

[Unlocks the door.

Emil. Oh, my good Lord! yender'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 fhe 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.

Oth. Not Caffia kill'd? Then murder's out of tune,
And fweet revenge grows

harth.

Def. Oh, falfely, falfely murdered!

Emil. Alas! what cry

Oth. That? what?

is that?

Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.
Help! help, ho! help! oh, lady, fpeak again!
Sweet Desdemona! oh, fweet miftrefs, 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!
Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd?
Emil. Alas! who knows?

Oth. You heard her fay, herfelf; it was not I.
Emil. She faid fo; I muft needs report the truth.
Oth. She's like a liar gone to burning hell;
"Twas I that kill'd her.

[Dies.

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

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

Emil. Thou art rafh as fire, to say

That she was falfe. Oh, fhe was heavenly true.
Oth. Caffio did tup her: afk thy husband elfe.

Oh, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,

But

But that I did proceed upon juft grounds

To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.
Emil. My husband?

Oth. Thy husband.

Emil. That fhe was falfe to wedlock?

Oth. Ay, with Caffio. Had he been true,
If heaven would make me fuch another world
Of one entire and perfect chryfolite,
I'd not have fold her for it.

Emil. My husband?

Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me firft;
An honeft 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 miftrefs! villainy has made mocks with love.
My husband say she was falfe!

Oth. He, woman;

I fay, thy husband; doft underftand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honeft, honeft Iago.

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

· Emil. Do thy worst.

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

Oth. Peace, you were be.

Emil. Thou haft not half that power to do me harm,
As I have to be hurt. Oh gull! oh dolt!

As ignorant as dirt! thou'ft 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!