A very handsome man.

DES. He speaks well.

EMIL. I know a lady in Venice would have walk'd barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

DES [Singing.]

»The 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.

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans,

Sing willow, willow, willow;

Her salt tears fell from her, and soft'ned the stones,

Sing willow« –

Lay by these –

[Singing.]

 

»– willow, willow« –

Prithee hie thee; he'll come anon –

 

[Singing.]

 

»Sing all a green willow must be my garland.

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve« –

Nay, that's not next. Hark, who is't that knocks?

EMIL.

It's the wind.

DES [Singing.]

»I call'd my love false love; but what said he then?

Sing willow, willow, willow;

If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe 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 –

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' th' dark.

DES.

Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

EMIL.

The world's a huge thing; it is a great price

For a small vice.

DES. [Good] troth, I think thou wouldst not.

EMIL. [By my] troth, I think I should, and undo't when I had done['t]. 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 all the whole world – ['ud's pity], 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' th' world; and having the world for your labor, '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 th' 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 have we 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 so.

DES.

Good night, good night. [God] me such uses send,

Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend.

 

Exeunt.

 

 

Act V,

Scene I

Enter Iago and Roderigo.

 

IAGO.

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 stand.

 

[Retires.]

 

ROD.

I have no great devotion to the deed,

And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.

'Tis but a man gone. Forth my sword; he dies.

IAGO.

I have rubb'd this young quat 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. [Be't] so. I [hear] him coming.

 

Enter Cassio.

 

ROD.

I know his gait, 'tis he. – Villain, thou diest!

 

[Makes a pass at Cassio.]

 

CAS.

That thrust had been mine enemy indeed,

But that my coat is better than thou know'st.

I will make proof of thine.

 

[Draws, and wounds Roderigo.]

 

ROD.

O, I am slain.

 

[Iago from behind wounds Cassio in the leg, and exit.]

 

CAS.

I am maim'd for ever. Help ho! murther, murther!

 

[Falls.]

 

Enter Othello.

 

OTH.

The voice of Cassio! Iago keeps his word.

ROD.

O, villain that I am!

OTH.

It is even so.

CAS.

O, help ho! light! a surgeon!

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 unblest fate hies. 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 Othello.

 

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.

 

CAS.

What ho! no watch? no passage? Murther, murther!

GRA.

'Tis some mischance, the voice is very direful.

CAS.

O, help!

LOD.

Hark!

ROD.

O wretched villin!

LOD.

Two or three groan.