She says I don't want nobody else, I love you She's lying There won't be somebody else and that's true She's lying Say you'll always be my friend sweet darling Why does she pretend ?
ain't no doubt-jimmy nail
It is much too late to find - when you think you've changed your mind - You'd better change it back or we will both be sorry
don't you want me-human league
Oth. By Heauen I saw my Handkerchiefe in's hand. O periur'd woman, thou do'st stone my heart, And makes me call, what I intend to do, A Murther, which I thought a Sacrifice. I saw the Handkerchiefe Des. He found it then: I neuer gaue it him: Send, for him hither: Let him confesse a truth Oth. He hath confest Des. What, my Lord? Oth. That he hath vs'd thee Des. How? vnlawfully? Oth. I Des. He will not say so Oth. No: his mouth is stopp'd: Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't Des. Oh, my feare interprets. What is he dead? Oth. Had all his haires bin liues, my great Reuenge Had stomacke for them all Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I vndone Oth. Out Strumpet: weep'st thou for him to my face? Des. O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not Oth. Downe Strumpet Des. Kill me to morrow, let me liue to night Oth. Nay, if you striue Des. But halfe an houre Oth. Being done, there is no pawse Des. But while I say one prayer Oth. It is too late. Smothers her. aemilia at the doore. Aemil. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa? My Lord, my Lord Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead? I that am cruell, am yet mercifull, I would not haue thee linger in thy paine? So, so. ....... Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done Oth. What? now? Aemil. But now, my Lord Oth. It is the very error of the Moone, She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont, And makes men mad. Aemil. Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'd A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd? Aemil. No, Cassio is not kill'd Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then Murther's out of tune, And sweet Reuenge growes harsh Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd. Aemil. Alas! what cry is that? Oth. That? What? Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice. Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe, Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye. Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed? Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell: Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell othelo-shakespeare
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