Shakespeare's First Folio Part 638

Aemil. Nor I neither, by this Heauenly light: I might doo't as well i'th' darke

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for al the world?

Aemil. The world's a huge thing: It is a great price, for a small vice

Des. Introth, I thinke thou would'st not.

Aemil. Introth I thinke I should, and vndoo't when I had done. Marry, I would not doe such a thing for a ioynt Ring, nor for measures of Lawne, nor for Gownes, Petticoats, nor Caps, nor any petty exhibition. But for all 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.

Aemil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'th' world; and hauing the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your owne world, and you might quickly make it right

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

Aemil. Yes, a dozen: and as many to'th' vantage, as would store the world they plaid for.

But I do thinke it is their Husbands faults If Wiues do fall: (Say, that they slacke their duties, And powre our Treasures into forraigne laps; Or else breake out in peeuish Iealousies, Throwing restraint vpon vs: Or say they strike vs, Or scant our former hauing in despight) Why we haue galles: and though we haue some Grace, Yet haue we some Reuenge. Let Husbands know, Their wiues haue sense like them: They see, and smell, And haue their Palats both for sweet, and sowre, As Husbands haue. What is it that they do, When they change vs for others? Is it Sport?

I thinke it is: and doth Affection breed it?

I thinke it doth. Is't Frailty that thus erres?

It is so too. And haue not we Affections?

Desires for Sport? and Frailty, as men haue?

Then let them vse vs well: else let them know, The illes we do, their illes instruct vs so

Des. Good night, good night: Heauen me such vses send, Not to picke bad, from bad; but by bad, mend.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Iago, and Rodorigo.

Iago. Heere, stand behinde this Barke, Straight will he come: Weare thy good Rapier bare, and put it home: Quicke, quicke, feare nothing; Ile be at thy Elbow, It makes vs, or it marres vs, thinke on that, And fixe most firme thy Resolution

Rod. Be neere at hand, I may miscarry in't

Iago. Heere, at thy hand: Be bold, & take thy stand

Rod. I haue no great deuotion to the deed, And yet he hath giuen me satisfying Reasons: 'Tis but a man gone. Forth my Sword: he dies

Iago. I haue rub'd this yong Quat almost to the sense, And he growes angry. Now, whether he kill Ca.s.sio, Or Ca.s.sio him, or each do kill the other, Euery way makes my gaine. Liue Rodorigo, He calles me to a rest.i.tution large Of Gold, and Iewels, that I bob'd from him, As Guifts to Desdemona.

It must not be: If Ca.s.sio do remaine, He hath a dayly beauty in his life, That makes me vgly: and besides, the Moore May vnfold me to him: there stand I in much perill: No, he must dye. But so, I heard him comming.

Enter Ca.s.sio.

Rod. I know his gate, 'tis he: Villaine thou dyest

Cas. That thrust had beene mine enemy indeed, But that my Coate is better then thou know'st: I will make proofe of thine

Rod. Oh, I am slaine

Ca.s.sio. I am maym'd for euer: Helpe hoa: Murther, murther.

Enter Oth.e.l.lo.

Oth. The voyce of Ca.s.sio. Iago keepes his word

Rod. O Villaine that I am

Oth. It is euen so

Cas. Oh helpe hoa: Light, a Surgeon

Oth. 'Tis he: O braue Iago, honest, and iust, That hast such n.o.ble sense of thy Friends wrong, Thou teachest me. Minion, your deere lyes dead, And your vnblest Fate highes: Strumpet I come: For of my heart, those Charmes thine Eyes, are blotted.

Thy Bed l.u.s.t-stain'd, shall with l.u.s.ts blood bee spotted.

Exit Oth.e.l.lo.

Enter Lodouico and Gratiano.

Cas. What hoa? no Watch? No pa.s.sage?

Murther, Murther

Gra. 'Tis some mischance, the voyce is very direfull

Cas. Oh helpe

Lodo. Hearke

Rod. Oh wretched Villaine

Lod. Two or three groane. 'Tis heauy night; These may be counterfeits: Let's think't vnsafe To come into the cry, without more helpe

Rod. n.o.body come: then shall I bleed to death.

Enter Iago.

Lod. Hearke

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

Iago. Who's there?

Who's noyse is this that cries on murther?

Lodo. We do not know

Iago. Do not you heare a cry?

Cas. Heere, heere: for heauen sake helpe me

Iago. What's the matter?

Gra. This is Oth.e.l.lo's Ancient, as I take it

Lodo. The same indeede, a very valiant Fellow

Iago. What are you heere, that cry so greeuously?

Cas. Iago? Oh I am spoyl'd, vndone by Villaines: Giue me some helpe

Iago. O mee, Lieutenant!