Aemil. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa?
My Lord, my Lord
Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
I that am cruell, am yet mercifull,
I would not haue thee linger in thy paine?
So, so.
Aemil. within. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord?
Oth. Who's there?
Aemil. Oh good my Lord, I would speake a word
with you
Oth. Yes: 'Tis aemilia: by and by. Shee's dead.
'Tis like she comes to speake of Cassio's death:
The noise was high. Hah, no more moouing?
Still as the Graue. Shall she come in? Wer't good?
I thinke she stirres againe. No, what's best to do?
If she come in, shee'l sure speake to my wife:
My wife, my wife: what wife? I haue no wife.
Oh insupportable! Oh heauy houre!
Me thinkes, it should be now a huge Eclipse
Of Sunne, and Moone; and that th' affrighted Globe
Did yawne at Alteration.
Aemil. I do beseech you
That I may speake with you. Oh good my Lord
Oth. I had forgot thee: oh come in aemilia.
Soft, by and by, let me the Curtaines draw.
Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?
Enter aemilia.
Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done
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