Oth. What? now?
Aemil. But now, my Lord
Oth. It is the very error of the Moone,
She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont,
And makes men mad.
Aemil. Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'd
A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo
Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd?
Aemil. No, Cassio is not kill'd
Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then Murther's out of tune,
And sweet Reuenge growes harsh
Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd.
Aemil. Alas! what cry is that?
Oth. That? What?
Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice.
Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe,
Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake
Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye.
Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed?
Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell:
Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell
Oth. Why, how should she be murdred?
Aemil. Alas: who knowes?
Oth. You heare her say her selfe, it was not I.
Aemil. She said so: I must needs report the truth
Oth. She's like a Liar gone to burning hell,
'Twas I that kill'd her.
Aemil. Oh the more Angell she, and you the blacker
Diuell
Oth. She turn'd to folly: and she was a whore.
Aemil. Thou do'st bely her, and thou art a diuell
Oth. She was false as water.
Aemil. Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false. Oh she was heauenly true