Emilia

Desdemona
What wouldst write of me if thou shouldst praise me?
Iago
O, gentle lady, do not put me to ‘t,
For I am nothing if not critical.
Desdemona
Come on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbor?
Iago
Ay, madam.
Desdemona, aside
I am not merry,
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I am glad I have found this napkin.
This was her first remembrance from the Moor.
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 to. I’ll have the work ta’en out
And give ‘t Iago.
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Othello
I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.
Lend me thy handkerchief.
Desdemona
Here, my lord.
Othello
That which I gave you.
Desdemona
I have it not about me.
Othello
Not?
Desdemona
No, faith, my lord.
Othello
That’s a fault.
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Iago
Is my lord angry?
Emilia
He went hence but now,
And certainly in strange unquietness.
Iago
Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon
When it hath blown his ranks into the air
And, like the devil, from his very arm
Puffed his own brother—and is he angry?
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Emilia
He called her “whore.” A beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.
Iago
Why did he so?
Desdemona
I do not know. I am sure I am none such.
Iago
Do not weep, do not weep! Alas the day!
Emilia
Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
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Desdemona
My mother had a maid called Barbary.
She was in love, and he she loved proved mad
And did forsake her. She had a song of willow,
An old thing ’twas, but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it. That song tonight
Will not go from my mind. I have much to do
But to go hang my head all at one side
And sing it like poor Barbary.
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Emilia, within
What, ho! My lord, my lord!
Othello
Who’s there?
Emilia, within
O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you.
Othello
Yes. ‘Tis Emilia.—By and by.—She’s dead.
‘Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death.
The noise was here.
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Desdemona
O falsely, falsely murdered.
Emilia
O Lord, what cry is that?
Othello
That? What?
Emilia
Out, and alas, that was my lady’s voice!
Help! Help ho! Help! O lady, speak again!
Sweet Desdemona, O sweet mistress, speak!
Desdemona
A guiltless death I die.
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Othello
O, O, O!
Othello falls on the bed.
Emilia
Nay, lay thee down, and roar!
For thou hast killed the sweetest innocent
That e’er did lift up eye.
Othello, standing
O, she was foul!—
I scarce did know you, uncle. There lies your niece,
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