EMILIA

You have little cause to say so. You shall not write my praise. How if Fair, and Foolish? Goodmorrow (good Lieutenant) I am sorry For your displeasure: but all will sure be well. The General and his wife are talking of it, And she speaks for you stoutly. The More replies, That he you hurt is of great Fame in Cyprus, And great Affinity: and that in wholesome Wisdom He might not but refuse you. But he protests he loves you And needs no other Suitor, but his likings To bring you in again. Pray you come in: I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. Good Madam do: I warrant it grieves my Husband, As if the cause were his. Madam, here comes my Lord. I am glad I have found this Napkin: This was her first remembrance from the More, My wayward Husband hath a hundred times Wooed me to steal it. But she so loves the Token, (For he conjured her, she should ever keep it) That she reserves it evermore about her, To kiss, and talk too. I'll have the work taken out, And giu`t Iago: what he will do with it Heaven knows, not I: I nothing, but to please his Fantasy. Do not you chide: I have a thing for you. Hah? O, is that all? What will you give me now For that same Handkerchief. What Handkerchief? Why that the More first gave to Desdemon, That which so often you did bid me steal. No: but she let it drop by negligence, And to the advantage, I being here, took't up: Look, here it's. What will you do with't, that you have be so earnest to have me filch it? If it be not for some purpose of import, Giu`t me again. Poor Lady, shee'l run mad When she shall lack it. I know not Madam. Is he not jealous? Look where he comes. Is not this man jealous? It's not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but Stomachs, and we all but Food, They eat us hungerly, and when they are full They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my Husband. He went hence but now: And certainly in strange unquietness. Pray heaven it be State matters, as you think, and no Conception, Nor no Jealous Toy, concerning you. But Jealous souls will not be answered so; They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous, for they're jealous. It is a Monster Begotten upon it self, born on it self. Lady, Amen. Nor ever herd: nor ever did suspect. Never my Lord. Never. Never my Lord. I durst (my Lord) to wager, she is honest: Lay down my Soul at stake: If you think other, Remove your thought. It does abuse your bosom: If any wretch have put this in your head, Let Heaven requited it with the Serpents curse, For if she be not honest, chaste, and true, There's no man happy. The purest of their Wives Is foul as Slander. Alas, what do' this Gentleman conceive? How do you Madam? how do you my good Lady? Why, with my Lord, Madam? He that is yours, sweet Lady. Here's a change indeed. Alas (Iago) my Lord hath so bewhored her, Thrown such despite, and heavy terms upon her That true hear S cannot bear it. He called her whore: a Beggar in his drink: Could not have laid such terms upon his Callet. Hath she forsook so many Noble Matches? Her Father? And her Country? And her Friends? To be called Whore? Would it not make one weep? A halter pardon him: And hell gnaw his bones. Why should he call her Whore? Who keeps her company? What Place? What Time? What Form? What liklyhood? The Moore's abused by some most villainous Knave, Some base notorious Knave, some scurvy Fellow. O Heavens, that such companions thou'd'st unfold, And put in every honest hand a whip To lash the Rascals naked through the world, Even from the East to the West. O fie upon them: some such Squire he was That turned your wit, the seamy-side without, And made you to suspect me with the More. I, would you had never seen him. Come, come: you talk. A very handsome man. I know a Lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his neither lip. It's the wind. There be some such, no question. Why, would not you? Nor I neither, by this Heavenly light: I might doo't as well in the dark. The world's a huge thing: It is a great price, for a small vice. In I think I should, and do't when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint Ring, nor for measures of Lawn, nor for Gowns, Petticoats, nor Caps, nor any petty exhibition. But for all the whole world: why, who would not make her hus band a Cuckold, to make him a Monarch? I should ven ture Purgatory for't. Why, the wrong is but a wrong in the world; and having the world for your labour, it's a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right. Yes, a dozen: and as many to the vantage, as would store the world they played for. But I do think it is their Husbands faults If Wives do fallen: (Say, that they slack their duties, And pour our Treasures into foreign laps; Or else break out in peevish Jealousy's, Throwing restraint upon us: Or say they strike us, Or scant our former having in despite) Why we have galls: and though we have some Grace, Yet have we some Revenge. Let Husbands know, Their wives have sense Like them: They see, and smell, And have their Palates both for sweet, and sour, As Husbands have. What is it that they do, When they change us for others? Is it Sport? I think it is: and does Affection breed it? I think it does. Is't Frailty that thus erres? It is so too. And have not we Affections? Desires for Sport? and Frailty, as men have? Then let them use us well: else let them know, The illes we do, their illes instruct us so. Alas, what is the matter? What is the matter, Husband? Alas good Gentleman: alas good Cassio. O fie upon thee Strumpet. As I? Fie upon thee. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa? My Lord, my Lord. O good my Lord, I would speak a word with you. I do beseech you That I may speak with you. O good my Lord. O my good Lord, yonders foul Murders done. But now, my Lord. Cassio, my Lord, hath killed A young Venetian, called Rodorigo. Alas! what cry is that? Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice. Help, help hoa, help. O Lady speak again, Sweet Desdemon, o sweet Mistress, speak. O who hath done this deed? Alas: who knows? She said so: I must needs report the truth. O the more Angel she, and you the black er Devil. Thou dost belly her, and thou art a devil. Thou a to rash as fire, to say That she was false. O she was heavenly true. My Husband? That she was false to Wedlock? My Husband? My Husband? O Mistress, Villainy hath made mocks with love: My Husband say she was false? If he say so, may his pernicious Soul Rot half a grain a day: he lies to the heart, She was too found of her most filthy Bargain. Do thy worst: This deed of thine is no more worthy Heaven, Then thou was't worthy her. Thou hast not half that pour to do me harm, As I have to be hurt. O Gull, o dolt, As ignorant as dirt: thou hast done a deed (I care not for thy Sword) I'll make thee known, Though I lost twenty lives. Help, help, hoa, help: The More hath killed my Mistress. Murder, murder. O, are you come, Iago: you have done well, That men must lay their Murders on your neck. Disprove this Villain, if thou be'st a man: He says, thou toldest him that his wife was false: I know thou didst not: thou'rt not such a Villain. Speak, for my heart is full. But did you ever tell him, She was false? You old a Lie and odious damned Lie: Upon my Soul, a Lie; a wicked Lie. She false with Cassio ? Did you say with Cassio ? What did thy Song boad Lady? Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the Swan, And die in Music: Willough, Willough, Willough. More, she was chaste: She loved thee, cruel More, So come my Soul to bliss, as I speak true: So speaking as I think, alas, I die. But then I saw no harm: and then I herd, Each syllable that breath made up between them. Good Madam, What's the matter with my Lord? I will be hanged, if some eternal Villain, Some busy and insinuating Rogue, Some cogging, cozening Slave, to get some Office, Have not devised this Slander: I will be hanged else. Dismiss me? I have laid those Sheets you bade me on the bed. Shall I go fetch your Nightgown? How goes it now? He looks gentler then he did. It's neither here, nor there. No Cassio is not killed. I will not charm my Tongue; I am bound to speak, My Mistress here lies murdered in her bed. And your reports have set the Murder on. Villainy, villainy, villainy: I think vpon't, I think: I smel't: Oh Villainy: I thought so then: I'll kill my self for grief. Oh villainy! villainy! Good Gentlemen, let me have leave to speak: It's proper I obey him; but not now: Perchance Iago, I will never go home. Nay, lay thee down, and roar: For thou hast killed the sweetest innocent, That ere did lift up eye. O Heaven! o heavenly Powers! It'll out, it'll out I peace? No, I will speak as liberal as the North; Let Heaven, and Men, and Devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. I will not. O thou dull More, That Handkerchief thou speakest of I found by Fortune, and did give my Husband: For often, with a solemn earnestness, (More then indeed belonged to such a Trifle) He begged of me, to steale't. She give it Cassio ? No, alas I found it, And I did giu`t my Husband. By Heaven I do not, I do not Gentlemen: O murderous Coxcomb, what should such a Fool Do with so good a wife? I, I: o lay me by my Mistress side. What hoa? my Lord, my Lord?