Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever! Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror? Alb. Fall, and cease! Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft, Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. Did I not, fellow? Lear. Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? Kent. The same, Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius? ་ , Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain is it That's but a trifle here. Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. During the life of this old majesty, your rights; [To Edgar and Kent] you, to With boot, and such addition as your honours Have more than merited. All friends shall taste O, see, see! Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life! And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Pray you, undo this button: - thank you, sir. - Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips, Edg. [Dies. He faints! My lord, my lord! — Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break! Look up, my lord. Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Edg. He is gone indeed. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life. Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present business Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends of my soul, you twain Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; [Exeunt, with a dead march. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. DUKE OF VENICE. CASSIO, his lieutenant. IAGO, his ancient. RODERIGO, aVenetian gentleman. DESDEMONA, daughter to Bra- Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen, Musicians, and Attendants. The first act in Venice; during the rest of the play, at a seaport in Cyprus. ACT I. SCENE 1. Venice. A street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO. Rod. Tush, never tell me; I take it much unkindly As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this, If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Nonsuits my mediators; for, "Certes," says he, Forsooth, a great arithmetician, More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice, - He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I God bless the mark! - his Moorship's ancient. Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. Iago. Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him, then. Iago. O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters |