Oth.
Good Michael, look you to the guard tonight.
Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop,

Not to out-sport discretion.

Cas.
Iago hath direction what to do:
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye
Will I look to't.

Oth.
Iago is most honest.
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 ensue; [To Desd.
That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
—Good-night. [Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. Enter Iago.

Cas.

Welcome, Iago. We must to the Watch.

Iago.

Not this hour, lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten o' th' clock. ^{8 note}Our General cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona, whom let us not therefore blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with her, and she is sport for Jove.

Cas.

She's a most exquisite lady.

Iago.

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

Cas.

Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature.

Iago.

What an eye she has? methinks, it sounds a parley to provocation.

Cas.

An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right modest.

Iago.

And when she speaks, is it not ^{9 note}an alarum to love?

Cas.

She is, indeed, perfection.

Iago.

Well, happiness to their sheets. Come, lieutenant, I have a stoop of wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello.

Cas.

Not to-night, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking; I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Iago.

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

Cas.

I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was ^{1 note}craftily qualified; and, behold, what innovation it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

Iago.

What, man? 'tis a night of revels, the gallants desire it.

Cas.

Where are they?

Iago.

Here at the door. I pray you, call them in.

Cas.

I'll do't, but it dislikes me.

Iago.
If I can fasten but one cup upon 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 sick fool, Rodorigo,
Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out,
To Desdemona hath to-night carouz'd
Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch.
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,
^{2 note}The very elements of this warlike isle,
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards,
Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle. But here they come.
^{3 note}

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