again, I hate the Moor. My caufe is hearted; thine hath no lefs reafon. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him. If thou canft cuckold him, thou doft thyself a pleasure, and me a fport. There are many events in the womb of time, which will be delivered. Traverfe, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.

Rod. Where fhall we meet i' th' morning? lago. At my lodging.

Rod. I'll be with thee betimes.

Iago. Go to, farewel.

Rod. What fay you?

Do you hear, Rodorigo?

Iago. No more of drowning, do you hear.
Rod. I am chang'd; I'll go fell all my land. [Exit.

lago. G

O to, farewel, put money enough in your purfe

Thus do I ever make my fool my purfe;

For I mine own gain'd knowledge fhould profane,
If I fhould time expend with fuch a fnipe,
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my fheets
He has done my office. I know not, if't be true.
But I, for mere fufpicion in that kind,
Will do, as if for furety. He holds me well-
The better fhall my purpose work on him ;
Caffio's a proper man: let me fee now;

To get his place, and to plume up my Will,
A double knavery-How? how?- let's fee-
After fome time, t' abuse Othello's ear,
That he is too familiar with his wife-
He hath a perfon, and a smooth dispose,
To be fufpected; fram'd to make women falfc.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,

That thinks men honest that but feem to be fo;

And

And will as tenderly be led by th' nose,

Muft bring this monsterous birth to the worlds light.

[Exit.

ACT II. SCENE I.

The Capital of CYPRUS.

Enter Montano Governor of Cyprus, and Gentlemen.

ΜΟΝΤΑΝ Ο.

WHAT from the cape can you discern at fea?

1 Gent. Nothing at all, it is a high wrought

flood;

I cannot 'twixt the heaven and the main
Defcry a fail.

Mont. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land;

A fuller blaft ne'er fhook our battlements;

If it hath ruffian'd fo upon the fea,

What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortife? what fhall we hear of this? 2 Gent. A fegregation of the Turkish fleet;

For do but ftand upon the foaming fhore,
The chiding billows feem to pelt the clouds;
The wind-fhak'd furge, with high and monftrous
main,

Seems to caft water on the burning Bear,
And quench the guards of th' ever-fired pole;
I never did like moleflation view

On the enchafed flood.

Mont. If that the Turkish fleet

Be not infhelter'd and embay'd, they're drown'd; It is impoffible to bear it out.

SCENE

II.

SCENE

Enter a third Gentleman.

3 Gent. NEWS, lords, our wars are done:

The defperate tempest hath fo bang'd
the Turks,

That their defignment halts. A noble fhip of Venice
Hath feen a grievous wreck and fufferance
On moft part of the fleet.

Mont. How! is this true?

3 Gent. The fhip is here put in, A Veroneffa; Michael Caffio,

Lieutenant of the warlike Moor Othello,

Is come on fhore; the Moor himself's at sea,
And is in full commiffion here for Cyprus.

Mont. I'm glad on't; 'tis a worthy Governor.
3 Gent. But this fame Caffio, though he fpeak of

comfort,

Touching the Turkish lofs, yet he looks fadly,
And prays the Moor be fafe; for they were parted
With foul and violent tempeft.

Mont. Pray heav'ns he be:

For I have ferv'd him, and the man commands

Like a full foldier. Let's to the fea-fide,

As well to fee the veffel that's come in,

As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,
Even till we make the main and th' aeriel blue
An indiftinct regard.

Gent. Come, let's do fo;
For every minute is expectancy
Of more arrivance.

Caf. T That fo approve the Moor: oh, let the heav'ns

HANKS to the valiant of this warlike ifle,

Give him defence against the elements,
For I have loft him on a dangerous fea.
Mont. Is he well fhipp'd?

Caf. His bark is ftoutly timber'd, and his pilot
Of very expert and approv'd allowance ;
Therefore my hopes, not furfeited to death,
Stand in bold cure.

Within] A fail, a fail, a fail!
Caf. What noise?

Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o' th' fea Stand ranks of people, and they cry, a fail.

Caf. My hopes do fhape him for the Governor. Gent. They do difcharge their fhot of courtesy : Our friends, at least.

Caf. I pray you, Sir, go forth,

And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd.
Gent. I fhall.

[Exit.

Mont. But, good lieutenant, is your General wiv'd?
Caf. Moft fortunately, he hath atchiev'd a maid

That paragons defcription and wild fame :
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
And in terreftrial vefture of creation.

Do's bear all excellency

SCENE IV.

Enter Gentleman.

How now? who has put in?

Gent. 'Tis one Iago, Ancient to the General. Caf. H'as had moft favourable and happy speed; Tempefts themselves, high feas, and howling winds; The gutter'd rocks, and congregated fands, (Traitors enfteep'd to clog the guiltlefs keel ;) As having fenfe of beauty, do omit

Their mortal natures, letting safe go by

The divine Defdemona.

Mont. What is fhe?

Caf. She that I fpake of, our great Captain's Captain,

Left

Left in the conduct of the bold Iago;
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts,
A fe'nnight's fpeed. Great Jove, Othello guard!
And fwell his fail with thine own powerful breath,
That he may blefs this bay with his tall ship,
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
Give renew'd fire to our extinguifh'd fpirits,
And bring all Cyprus comfort-

Enter Desdemona, Iago, Rodorigo, and Æmilia.

O behold!

The riches of the ship is come on shore :

You men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heav'n,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand
Enwheel thee round.

Def. I thank you, valiant Caffio,

What tidings can you tell me of my lord?
Caf. He is not yet arriv'd, nor know I aught
But that he's well, and will be shortly here.
Def. O, but I fear-how loft you company?
Caf. The great contention of the fea and fkies
Parted our fellowship. But hark, a fail!
Within.] A fail, a fail!

Gent. They give this greeting to the Citadel:
This likewife is a friend.

Caf. See for the news:

Good Ancient, you are welcome. Welcome miftrefs,

Let it not gall your patience, good Iago,

[To Emilia.

That I extend my manners. 'Tis my breeding,
That gives me this bold fhew of courtefy.

Iago. Sir, would fhe give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue fhe oft beftows on me,

You'd have enough.

Def. Alas! he has no fpeech.