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 Cassio,
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other,
Euery way makes my gaine. Liue Rodorigo,
He calles me to a restitution large
Of Gold, and Iewels, that I bob'd from him,
As Guifts to Desdemona.
It must not be: If Cassio 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 Cassio.
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
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