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.
Cas. What hoa? no Watch? No passage?
Murther, Murther
Gra. 'Tis some mischance, the voyce is very direfull
Cas. Oh helpe
Lodo. Hearke
Rod. Oh wretched Villaine