Speeches (Lines) for Emilia in "The Tragedy of Othello; or, The Moor of Venice"

Iago. In faith, too much;
I find it still, when I have list to sleep:
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant,
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
And chides with thinking.

Emilia. You have little cause to say so.

Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:
You rise to play and go to bed to work.

Emilia. You shall not write my praise.

Desdemona. Worse and worse.

Emilia. How if fair and foolish?

Cassio. I humbly thank you for't.
[Exit IAGO]
I never knew
A Florentine more kind and honest.

Emilia. Good morrow, 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 Moor 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 take the safest occasion by the front
To bring you in again.

Cassio. Yet, I beseech you,
If you think fit, or that it may be done,
Give me advantage of some brief discourse
With Desdemona alone.

Emilia. Pray you, come in;
I will bestow you where you shall have time
To speak your bosom freely.

Desdemona. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do
All my abilities in thy behalf.

Emilia. Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband,
As if the case were his.

Desdemona. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here
I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee,
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it
To the last article: my lord shall never rest;
I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience;
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;
I'll intermingle every thing he does
With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio;
For thy solicitor shall rather die
Than give thy cause away.

Emilia. Madam, here comes my lord.

Desdemona. I am very sorry that you are not well.

Emilia. I am glad I have found this napkin:
This was her first remembrance from the Moor:
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd 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: what he will do with it
Heaven knows, not I;
I nothing but to please his fantasy.

Iago. How now! what do you here alone?

Emilia. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

Iago. A thing for me? it is a common thing--

Emilia. Ha!

Iago. To have a foolish wife.

Emilia. O, is that all? What will you give me now
For the same handkerchief?

Iago. What handkerchief?

Emilia. What handkerchief?
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

Iago. Hast stol'n it from her?

Emilia. No, 'faith; she let it drop by negligence.
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up.
Look, here it is.

Iago. A good wench; give it me.

Emilia. What will you do with 't, that you have been
so earnest
To have me filch it?

Iago. [Snatching it] Why, what's that to you?

Emilia. If it be not for some purpose of import,
Give't me again: poor lady, she'll run mad
When she shall lack it.

Desdemona. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?

Emilia. I know not, madam.

Desdemona. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse
Full of crusadoes: and, but my noble Moor
Is true of mind and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

Emilia. Is he not jealous?

Desdemona. Who, he? I think the sun where he was born
Drew all such humours from him.

Emilia. Look, where he comes.

Othello. Away!

Emilia. Is not this man jealous?

Desdemona. I ne'er saw this before.
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Emilia. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man:
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;
To eat us hungerly, and when they are full,
They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my husband!

Iago. Is my lord angry?

Emilia. He went hence but now,
And certainly in strange unquietness.

Desdemona. I prithee, do so.
[Exit IAGO]
Something, sure, of state,
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practise
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,
Hath puddled his clear spirit: and in such cases
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so;
For let our finger ache, and it indues
Our other healthful members even to that sense
Of pain: nay, we must think men are not gods,
Nor of them look for such observances
As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am,
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
But now I find I had suborn'd the witness,
And he's indicted falsely.

Emilia. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as you think,
And no conception nor no jealous toy
Concerning you.

Desdemona. Alas the day! I never gave him cause.

Emilia. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Desdemona. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind!

Emilia. Lady, amen.

Othello. You have seen nothing then?

Emilia. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.

Othello. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together.

Emilia. But then I saw no harm, and then I heard
Each syllable that breath made up between them.

Othello. What, did they never whisper?

Emilia. Never, my lord.

Othello. Nor send you out o' the way?

Emilia. Never.

Othello. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?

Emilia. Never, my lord.

Othello. That's strange.

Emilia. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch have put this in your head,
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy; the purest of their wives
Is foul as slander.

Othello. I cry you mercy, then:
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
That married with Othello.
[Raising his voice]
You, mistress,
That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the gate of hell!
[Re-enter EMILIA]
You, you, ay, you!
We have done our course; there's money for your pains:
I pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel.

Emilia. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?

Desdemona. 'Faith, half asleep.

Emilia. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

Desdemona. With who?

Emilia. Why, with my lord, madam.

Desdemona. Who is thy lord?

Emilia. He that is yours, sweet lady.

Desdemona. I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia;
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none,
But what should go by water. Prithee, tonight
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets: remember;
And call thy husband hither.

Emilia. Here's a change indeed!

Iago. What's the matter, lady?

Emilia. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored her.
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,
As true hearts cannot bear.

Desdemona. Such as she says my lord did say I was.

Emilia. He call'd her whore: a beggar in his drink
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.

Iago. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day!

Emilia. Hath she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father and her country and her friends,
To be call'd whore? would it not make one weep?

Desdemona. Nay, heaven doth know.

Emilia. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Some busy and insinuating rogue,
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,
Have not devised this slander; I'll be hang'd else.

Desdemona. If any such there be, heaven pardon him!

Emilia. 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 likelihood?
The Moor's abused by some most villanous knave,
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.
O heaven, that such companions thou'ldst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascals naked through the world
Even from the east to the west!

Iago. Speak within door.

Emilia. O, fie upon them! Some such squire he was
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without,
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

Desdemona. I will, my lord.

Emilia. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

Desdemona. He says he will return incontinent:
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.

Emilia. Dismiss me!

Desdemona. It was his bidding: therefore, good Emilia,.
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:
We must not now displease him.

Emilia. I would you had never seen him!

Desdemona. So would not I. my love doth so approve him,
That even his stubbornness, his cheques, his frowns--
Prithee, unpin me,--have grace and favour in them.

Emilia. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

Desdemona. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!
If I do die before thee prithee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

Emilia. Come, come you talk.

Desdemona. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:
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 express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: that song to-night
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 Barbara. Prithee, dispatch.

Emilia. Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

Desdemona. No, unpin me here.
This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emilia. A very handsome man.

Desdemona. He speaks well.

Emilia. I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot
to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.

Desdemona. [Singing] The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow:
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;
Lay by these:--
[Singing]
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--
[Singing]
Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,-
Nay, that's not next.--Hark! who is't that knocks?

Emilia. It's the wind.

Desdemona. [Singing] I call'd my love false love; but what
said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow:
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men!
So, get thee gone; good night Ate eyes do itch;
Doth that bode weeping?

Emilia. 'Tis neither here nor there.

Desdemona. I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!
Dost thou in conscience think,--tell me, Emilia,--
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind?

Emilia. There be some such, no question.

Desdemona. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emilia. Why, would not you?

Desdemona. No, by this heavenly light!

Emilia. Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
I might do't as well i' the dark.

Desdemona. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emilia. The world's a huge thing: it is a great price.
For a small vice.

Desdemona. In troth, I think thou wouldst not.

Emilia. In troth, I think I should; and undo'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 the whole world,--why, who would
not make her husband a cuckold to make him a
monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

Desdemona. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong
For the whole world.

Emilia. Why the wrong is but a wrong i' the world: and
having the world for your labour, tis a wrong in your
own world, and you might quickly make it right.

Desdemona. I do not think there is any such woman.

Emilia. 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 fall: say that they slack their duties,
And pour our treasures into foreign laps,
Or else break out in peevish jealousies,
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 doth affection breed it?
I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs?
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 ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

Iago. [To BIANCA] What, look you pale? O, bear him out
o' the air.
[CASSIO and RODERIGO are borne off]
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, mistress?
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye?
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.
Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her:
Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak,
Though tongues were out of use.

Emilia. 'Las, what's the matter? what's the matter, husband?

Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark
By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped:
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.

Emilia. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!

Iago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me.

Emilia. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet!

Bianca. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest
As you that thus abuse me.

Emilia. As I! foh! fie upon thee!

Othello. It is too late.

Emilia. [Within] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!

Othello. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
I that am cruel am yet merciful;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain: So, so.

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. Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't good?--
I think she stirs again:--no. What's best to do?
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife:
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O insupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

Emilia. [Within] I do beseech you
That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!

Othello. I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia;
Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou?
[Unlocks the door]
[Enter EMILIA]
What's the matter with thee now?

Emilia. O, my good lord, yonder's foul murders done!

Othello. What, now?

Emilia. But now, my lord.

Othello. It is the very error of the moon;
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,
And makes men mad.

Emilia. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian
Call'd Roderigo.

Othello. Roderigo kill'd!
And Cassio kill'd!

Emilia. No, Cassio is not kill'd.

Desdemona. O, falsely, falsely murder'd!

Emilia. Alas, 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.

Emilia. O, who hath done this deed?

Othello. Why, how should she be murder'd?

Emilia. Alas, who knows?

Othello. You heard her say herself, it was not I.

Emilia. She said so: I must needs report the truth.

Othello. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell:
'Twas I that kill'd her.

Emilia. O, the more angel she,
And you the blacker devil!

Othello. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

Emilia. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.

Othello. She was false as water.

Emilia. Thou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false: O, she was heavenly true!

Othello. Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

Emilia. My husband!

Othello. Thy husband.

Emilia. That she was false to wedlock?

Othello. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and Perfect chrysolite,
I'ld not have sold her for it.

Emilia. My husband!

Othello. Ay, 'twas he that told me first:
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.

Emilia. My husband!

Othello. What needs this iteration, woman? I say thy husband.

Emilia. O mistress, villany hath made mocks with love,
My husband say that she was false!

Othello. He, woman;
I say thy husband: dost understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.

Emilia. If he say so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart:
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

Othello. Ha!

Emilia. Do thy worst:
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
Than thou wast worthy her.

Othello. Peace, you were best.

Emilia. Thou hast not half that power 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, ho! help!
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murder! murder!

Montano. What is the matter? How now, general!

Emilia. O, are you come, Iago? you have done well,
That men must lay their murders on your neck.

Gratiano. What is the matter?

Emilia. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man:
He says thou told'st him that his wife was false:
I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain:
Speak, for my heart is full.

Iago. I told him what I thought, and told no more
Than what he found himself was apt and true.

Emilia. But did you ever tell him she was false?

Iago. I did.

Emilia. You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
She false with Cassio!--did you say with Cassio?

Iago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.

Emilia. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak:
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed,--

All. O heavens forfend!

Emilia. And your reports have set the murder on.

Montano. O monstrous act!

Emilia. Villany, villany, villany!
I think upon't, I think: I smell't: O villany!--
I thought so then:--I'll kill myself for grief:--
O villany, villany!

Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.

Emilia. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak:
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

Othello. O! O! O!

Emilia. Nay, lay thee down and roar;
For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent
That e'er did lift up eye.

Othello. 'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it:
And she did gratify his amorous works
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand:
It was a handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

Emilia. O heaven! O heavenly powers!

Iago. Come, hold your peace.

Emilia. 'Twill out, 'twill 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.

Iago. Be wise, and get you home.

Emilia. I will not.

Gratiano. Fie!
Your sword upon a woman?

Emilia. O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou speak'st of
I found by fortune and did give my husband;
For often, with a solemn earnestness,
More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,
He begg'd of me to steal it.

Iago. Villanous whore!

Emilia. She give it Cassio! no, alas! I found it,
And I did give't my husband.

Iago. Filth, thou liest!

Emilia. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
O murderous coxcomb! what should such a fool
Do with so good a woman?

Gratiano. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his wife.

Emilia. Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' side.

Othello. I am not valiant neither,
But ever puny whipster gets my sword:
But why should honour outlive honesty?
Let it go all.

Emilia. What did thy song bode, lady?
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan.
And die in music.
[Singing]
Willow, willow, willow,--
Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, I die, I die.