Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Othel. Now: how dost thou looke now? Oh ill‑Starr'd wench,
Othel. Pale as thy Smocke: when we shall meete at compt,
Othel. This looke of thine will hurle my Soule from Heauen,
Othel. And Fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my Girle?
Othel. Euen like thy Chastity. O cursed, cursed Slaue!
Othel. Whip me ye Diuels,
Othel. From the possession of this Heauenly sight:
Othel. Blow me about in windes, roast me in Sulphure,
Othel. Wash me in steepe‑downe gulfes of Liquid fire.
Othel. Oh Desdemon! dead Desdemon: dead. Oh, oh!
Othel. Enter Lodouico, Cassio, Montano, and Iago,
Othel. with Officers.
Lod. Lod.
Lod. Where is this rash, and most vnfortunate man?
Oth. Oth.
Oth. That's he that was Othello: heere I am.
Lod. Where is that Viper?
Lod. Bring the Villaine forth.