Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Othe. That's strange.
Æmil. Æmil.
Æmil. I durst (my Lord) to wager, she is honest:
Æmil. Lay downe my Soule at stake: If you thinke other,
Æmil. Remoue your thought. It doth abuse your bosome:
Æmil. If any wretch haue put this in your head,
Æmil. Let Heauen requit it with the Serpents curse,
Æmil. For if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
Æmil. There's no man happy. The purest of their Wiues
Æmil. Is foule as Slander.
Othe. Othe.
Othe. Bid her come hither: go.
Othe. Exit Æmilia.
Othe. She saies enough: yet she's a simple Baud
Othe. That cannot say as much. This is a subtile Whore:
Othe. A Closset Locke and Key of Villanous Secrets,
Othe. And yet she'le kneele, and pray: I haue seene her do't.
Othe. Enter Desdemona, and Æmilia.
Des. Des.
Des. My Lord, what is your will?