Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Othe. She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
Othe. That Heauen had made her such a man. She thank'd me,
Othe. And bad me, if I had a Friend that lou'd her,
Othe. I should but teach him how to tell my Story,
Othe. And that would wooe her. Vpon this hint I spake,
Othe. She lou'd me for the dangers I had past,
Othe. And I lou'd her, that she did pitty them.
Othe. This onely is the witch‑craft I haue vs'd.
Othe. Here comes the Ladie: Let her witnesse it.
Othe. Enter Desdemona, Iago, Attendants.
Duke. Duke.
Duke. I thinke this tale would win my Daughter too,
Duke. Good Brabantio, take vp this mangled matter at the best:
Duke. Men do their broken Weapons rather vse,
Duke. Then their bare hands.
Bra. Bra.
Bra. I pray you heare her speake?
Bra. If she confesse that she was halfe the wooer,
Bra. Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
Bra. Light on the man. Come hither gentle Mistris,