Cassio
O, help, ho! light! a surgeon!
Othello
’Tis he:—O brave Iago, honest and just,
That hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong!
Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies dead,
And your unblest fate hies: strumpet, I come.
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;
Thy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted.
Exit.
Cassio
What, ho! no watch? no passage? murder! murder!
Gratiano
’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.