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Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife.
Or failing fo, yet that I put the Moor

At least into a jealousy so strong,

That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, (26)
If this poor brach of Venice, whom I trace

For his quick hunting, ftand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Caffio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the right garb;
(For I fear Caffio with my night-cap too,)

Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an ass;

And practifing upon his peace and quite,

Even to madness. 'Tis here-but yet confus'd;
Knavery's plain face is never seen, 'till us'd.

Her.

I

SCENE, the STREET.

Enter Herald with a Proclamation.

[Exit.

T is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant General, that upon certain tidings now arriv'd importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: fome to dance, fome to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his mind leads him. For, befides this beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptials. So much was his pleafure, fhould be proclaimed. All offices are open, and (26) Which thing to do,

If this poor trafh of Venice, whom I trace

For bis quick bunting, ftand the putting on.] A trifling, infignificant fellow may, in fome respects, very well be call'd trash; but what confonance of metaphor is there betwixt trash, and quick hunting, and funding the putting on? The allufion to the chafe SHAKESPEARE feems to be fond of applying to Redorigo, who fays of himfelf towards the conclufion of this act;

I follow her in the chafe, not like a bound that hunts, but one that * fills up the cry.

I have a great fufpicion, therefore, that the Poet wrote;

If this poor brach of Venice,

which, we know, is a degenerate fpecies of bound, and a term gencrally us'd in contempt: and this compleats and perfects the metaphorical allufion, and makes it much more fatirical, Mr. Warburton.

N 2

there

there is full liberty of feafting, from this prefent hour of five, 'till the bell have told eleven. Bless the ifle of Cyprus, and our noble General Othello!

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[Exit.

Enter Othello, Defdemona, Caffio, and Attendants.
~OOD Michael, look you to the guard to-night,

Oib. G Let's teach ourfelves that honourable stop,

Not to out-fport difcretion.

Caf. Iago hath direction what to do:

But, notwithstanding, with my perfonal eye
Will I look to't.

Oth. Iago is most honeft:

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Michael, good-night. To-morrow, with your earliest, Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to enfue;

That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.

Good-night.

[Exeunt Othello and Defdemona. Enter Jago.

Caf. Welcome, Iago; we muft to the Watch. Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten o'th' clock. Our General cast us thus early for the love of his Defdemona: whom let us not therefore blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with her: and the is fport for Jove.

Caf. She's a moft exquifite lady.

Iago. And I'll warrant her, full of game.

Caf. Indeed, fhe's a moft fresh and delicate creature. lago. What an eye fhe has? methinks, it founds a parley to provocation.

Caf. An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right modeft. Iago. And when the fpeaks, is it not an alarum to love? Caf. she is, indeed, perfection.

lago. Well, happiness to their fheets: come, lieutenant, I have a floop of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello.

Caf. Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor

and

and unhappy brains for drinking. I could well with, courtefy would invent fome other cuftom of entertain

ment.

lag. Oh, they are our friends: but one cup; I'll drink for you.

Caf. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too: and, behold, what innovation it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not tafk my weakness with any more.

lag. What, man? 'tis a night of revels, the gallants defire it:

Caf. Where are they?

Iago. Here at the door; I pray you, call them in.
Caf. I'll do't, but it dislikes me.

Tago. If I can faften but one cup upon

[Exit Caffio.

him,

With that which he hath drunk to-night already,
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence,

As my young mistress' dog.

Now, my fick fool, Rotorigo,

Whom love hath turn'd almoft the wrong fide out,
To Defdemona hath to-night carouz'd
Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble fwelling fpirits,
(That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements of this warlike isle,).
Have I to-night flufter'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of
Am I to put our Cafio in fome action [drunkards,
That may offend the ifle. But here they come.
If confequence do but approve my Deem, (27):
My boat fails freely, both with wind and stream.

L

(27) If confequence do but approve my dream.] All the printed copies concur in this reading, but, I think, it does not come up to the Poet's intention; I rather imagine that he wrote,

If confequence do but approve my deem

ise. my opinion, the judgment I have form'd of what must happen. So, in Troilus and Creffida;

Cref. I true? how now? what wicked deem is this?

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Enter Caffio, Montano, and gentlemen.

Caf. 'Fore heav'n, they have given me a roufe already.

Mont. Good faith, a little one: not paft a pint, as I am a foldier.

Iago. Some wine, ho!

And let me the canakin clink, clink,

And let me the canakin clink.

[Iago fings.

A foldier's a man; oh, man's life's but a span;
Why, then let a foldier drink.

Some wine, boys.

Caf. 'Fore heav'n, an excellent fong.

Iago. I learn'd it in England: where, indeed, they are moft potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your fwag-belly'd Hollander,-Drink, ho!-are nothing to your English.

Cof. Is your Eng fhman fo exquifite in his drinking? Iago. Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk. He fweats not to overthrow your Almain. He gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be fill'd.

Caf. To the health of our General.

Mont. I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice.
Jage. Oh fweet England.

King Stephen was an a worthy peer,
His breeches caft him but a crown;

He held them fix perce all too dear,
With that he call'd the tailor lown.

He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho!

Caf. Why, this is a more exquifite fong than the other. lago. Will you hear't again?

Caf. No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place,

that

that does thofe things. Well- Heaven's above all; and there be souls that must be saved, and there be souls muft not be faved.

Jago. It's true, good lieutenant.

Caf. For mine own part, (no offence to the general, nor any man of quality ;) I hope to be faved. Lago. And fo do I too, lieutenant.

Caf. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be faved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. Forgive our fins- gentlemen, let's look to our bufineis. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my Ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I fpeak well enough.

Gen'. Excellent well.

Caf. Why, very well then you must not think then

that I am drunk..

Manent Iago and Montano.

[Exit.

Mont. To the platform, mafters; come, let's fet the Watch.

Iago. You fee this fellow, that is gone before; He is a foldier, fit to ftand by Cæsar,

And give direction.

And do but fee his vice

'Tis to his virtues a juft equinox,

The one as long as th' other. 'Tis pity of him;

I fear, the truft Othello puts him in,

On fome odd time of his infirmity,

Will fhake this island.

Mont. But is he often thus ?

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Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his fleep,

He'll watch the horologue a double fet,

If drink rock not his cradle.

Mont. It were well,

The General were put in mind of it:
Perhaps, he fees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Caffio,
And looks not on his evils: is not this true?

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