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
Cassio. I am maym'd for euer:
Helpe hoa: Murther, murther.
Enter Othello.
Oth. The voyce of Cassio. 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 Noble 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 lust-stain'd, shall with Lusts blood bee spotted.
Exit Othello.
Enter Lodouico and Gratiano.