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That their designment halts: A noble ship of Venice
How! is this true?
Mon. I am glad en't; 'tis a worthy governor.
of comfort, Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays
the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. Mon.
'Pray heaven he be;
Come, let's do so;
Enter Cassio. Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor; 0, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost him on a dangerous sea!
Mon. Is he well shipp'd ?
Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot Of
very expert and approv'd allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure.
[Within.] A sail, a sail, a sail!
Enter another Gentleman.
Cas. What noise?
4 Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o'the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry—a sail.
Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governour. 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy:
[Guns heard. Our friends, at least. Cas.
I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv’d. 2 Gent. I shall.
[Exit. Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd?
Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid That paragons description, and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation, Does bear all excellency.—How now? who has put
Re-enter second Gentleman. 2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. Cas. He has had most favourable and happy
speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, – Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,
As having sense of beauty, do omit
What is she?
captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago; Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed. -Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath; That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, And bring all Cyprus comfort !–0, behold,
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iugo, Roderigo, and
I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord ?
Cas. He is not yet arriv’d; nor know I aught But that he's well, and will be shortly here.
Des. O, but I fear;-How lost you company?
Des. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship: But, hark! a sail.
[Cry within, A Sail, a Sail! Then Guns heard. 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend.
See for the news.
[Erit Gentleman, Good ancient, you are welcome;-Welcome, mistress:
[To Emilia, Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy.
Alas, she has no speech.
You have little cause to say so. lago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out
of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your
beds. Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer!
Tago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk;
Emil. You shall not write my praise.
No, let me not. Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou
should'st praise me? Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
For I am nothing, if not critical.
harbour? Iago. Ay, madam.
Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — Come, how would'st thou praise me?
Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize, It plucks out brains and all: But my muse la
bours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise,-fairness, and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. Des. Well prais’d! How if she be black and
witty? Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.
Des. Worse and worse.
Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair;
Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise bast thou for her that's foul and foolish?
Iago. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.
Des. O heavy ignorance !-thou praisest the worst best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed? one, that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself?