Des.

Oh most lame and impotent Conclusion. Do not learn of him, Æmilia, tho' he be thy Husband. How say you, Cassio, is he not a most profane and liberal Counsellor?

Cas.

He speaks home, Madam, you may relish him more in the Soldier, than in the Scholar.

Jago. Aside.]

He takes her by the Palm; ay, well said— whisper—With as little a Web as this, will I ensnare as great a Fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do—I will gyve thee in thine own Courtship. You say true, 'tis so indeed—If such Tricks as these strip you out of your Lieutenancy, it had been better you had not kiss'd your three Fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the Sir in. Very good—well kiss'd, and excellent Curtesie—'tis so indeed— Yet again—your Fingers to your Lips? Would they were

Clister-pipes for your sake.

Cas.
'Tis truly so.

Des.
Let's meet him, and receive him.

Cas.
Lo, where he comes! Enter Othello, and Attendants.

Oth.
O my fair Warrior!

Des.
My dear Othello.

Oth.
It gives me wonder, great as my Content,
To see you here before me. Oh my Soul's Joy!
If after every Tempest come such Calms,
May the Winds blow, 'till they have waken'd Death:
And let the labouring Bark climb Hills of Seas
Olympus high; and duck again as low
As Hell's from Heav'n. If it were now to dye,
'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My Soul hath her Content so absolute,
That not another Comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown Fate.

Des.
The Heav'ns forbid,
But that our Loves and Comforts should increase,
Even as our Days do grow.

Oth.
Amen to that, sweet Powers!
I cannot speak enough of this Content,
It stops me here: It is too much of Joy,
And this and this the greatest Discords be [Kissing her.
That e'er our Hearts shall make.

Jago.
Oh you are well tun'd now; but I'll set down the
Pegs that make this Musick, as honest as I am. [Aside.

Oth.
Come, let us to the Castle.
News, Friends, our Wars are done; the Turks are drown'd.
How does my old Acquaintance of this Isle?
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus,
I have found great Love amongst them. O my Sweet,
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote
In mine own Comforts. I prethee, good Jago,
Go to the Bay, and disembark my Coffers:
Bring thou the Master to the Cittadel,
He is a good one, and his worthiness
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona,

Once more well met at Cyprus. [Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.

Jago.

Do you meet me presently at the Harbour. Come thither, if thou be'st valiant; as they say, base Men being in Love, have then a Nobility in their Natures, more than is native to them—list me; the Lieutenant to Night watches on the Court of Guard. First, I must tell thee this: Desdemona is directly in Love with him.

Rod.

With him? why, 'tis not possible.

Jago.

Lay thy Fingers thus; and let thy Soul be instructed. Mark me with what Violence she lov'd the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantastical Lies. To love him still for prating, let not thy discreet Heart think it. Her Eye must be fed. And what Delight shall she have to look on the Devil? When the Blood is made dull with the Act of Sport, there should be a game to inflame it, and to give satiety a fresh Appetite; Loveliness in favour, Sympathy in Years, Manners, and Beauties: All which the Moor is defective in. Now for want of these requir'd Conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find it self abus'd, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very Nature will instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now, Sir, this granted, (as it is a most pregnant and unforc'd Position) who stands so eminent in the degree of this Fortune, as Cassio does: A Knave very voluble; no further Conscionable, than in putting on the meer form of Civil and Human seeming, for the better compass of his Salt, and most hidden loose Affection? Why none, why none. A slippery and subtle Knave, a finder of Occasions; that has an Eye can stamp and counterfeit Advantages, though true Advantage never present it self. A Devilish Knave! besides, the Knave is handsom, young, and hath all those Requisites in him, that folly and green Minds look after. A pestilent compleat Knave! and the Woman hath found him already.

Rod.

I cannot believe that in her, she's full of most bless'd Condition.

Jago.

Bless'd Figs end. The Wine she drinks is made of Grapes. If she had been bless'd, she would never have lov'd the Moor: Bless'd pudding. Didst thou not see

her paddle with the palm of his Hand? Didst not mark that?

Rod.

Yes, that I did; but that was but Courtesie.

Jago.

Letchery by this Hand: An Index, and obscure Prologue to the History of Lust, and foul Thoughts. They met so near with their Lips, that their Breaths embrac'd together. Villanous Thoughts, Rodorigo, when these Mutabilities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the Master, and main Exercise, th'incorporate Conclusion: Pish— But, Sir, be you rul'd by me. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to Night; for the Command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not; I'll not be far from you. Do you find some Occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his Discipline, or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister.

Rod.

Well.

Jago.

Sir, he's Rash, and very sudden in Choler: And happily may strike at you, provoke him that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny. Whose Qualification shall come into no true taste again, but by displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your Desires, by the means I shall then have to prefer them. And the Impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our Prosperity.

Rod.

I will do this, if you can bring it to any Opportunity.

Jago.

I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the Cittadel. I must fetch his Necessaries ashore. Farewel.

Rod.

Adieu.

Jago.
That Cassio loves her, I do well believe't:
That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great Credit.
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
Is of a constant, loving, noble Nature,
And I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona,
A most dear Husband. Now I do love her too,
Not out of absolute Lust, though peradventure
I stand accountant for as great a Sin,
But partly led to diet my Revenge,

For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leapt into my Seat. The Thoughts whereof,
Doth, like a poisonous Mineral, gnaw my Inwards;
And nothing can, or shall content my Soul
'Till I am even'd with him, Wife for Wife:
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor,
At least into a Jealousie so strong,
That Judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
If this poor Trash of Venice, whom I trace
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the right garb,
For I fear Cassio with my Night Cap too,
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an Ass,
And practising upon his peace and quiet,
Even to madness. 'Tis here—but yet confus'd,
Knaveries plain Face, is never seen, 'till us'd. [Exit. Enter Herald, with a Proclamation.

Her.

It is Othello's pleasure, our Noble and Valiant General; that upon certain Tidings now arriv'd, importing the meer Perdition of the Turkish Fleet, every Man put himself into triumph. Some to dance, some to make Bonefires, each Man to what Sport and Revels his addiction leads him. For besides these beneficial News, it is the Celebration of his Nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All Offices are open, and there is full liberty of Feasting, from this present hour of five, 'till the Bell have toll'd eleven.

Oth.
Good Michael, look you to the Guard to Night.
Let's teach our selves that honourable stop,
Not to out-sport Discretion.

Cas.
Jago hath direction what to do.
But notwithstanding with my personal Eye,
Will I look to't.

Oth.
Jago is most honest:
Michael, good Night. To Morrow with your earliest,
Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear Love,

The Purchace made, the Fruits are to ensue,
That Profit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
Good Night. [Exit. Enter Jago.

Cas.
Welcome, Jago; we must to the Watch.

Jago.

Not this hour, Lieutenant: 'Tis not yet ten o'th' Clock. 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.

Jago.

And I'll warrant her full of Game.

Cas.

Indeed she's a most fresh and delicate Creature.

Jago.
What an Eye she has?
Methinks it sounds a Parley to Provocation.

Cas.
An inviting Eye;
And yet methinks right modest.

Jago.
And when she speaks,
Is it not an Alarum to Love?

Cas.
She is indeed Perfection.

Jago.

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 black Othello.

Cas.

Not to Night, good Jago: I have very poor and unhappy Brains for drinking. I could well wish Courtesie would invent some other custom of Entertainment.

Jago.

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 craftily qualified too: And behold what Innovation it makes here. I am infortunate in the Infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

Jago.

What, Man? 'tis a Night of Revels, the Gallants desire it.

Cas.
Where are they?

Jago.
Here, at the Door; I pray you call them in.

Cas.
I'll do't, but it dislikes me. [Exit Cassio.

Jago.
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's 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 else of Cyprus, Noble swelling Spirits,
That hold their Honours in a wary distance,
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. Enter Cassio, Montano, and Gentlemen.
If Consequence do but approve my Dream,
My Boat sails freely, both with Wind and Stream.

Cas.

'Fore Heav'n, they have given me a rowse already.

Mon.

Good faith a little one: Not past a Pint, as I am a Soldier.

Jago.
Some Wine ho! [Jago sings.

And let me the Cannakin clink, clink,
And let me the Cannakin clink.
A Soldier's a Man; Oh, Man's Life's but a Span,
Why then let a Soldier drink.
Some Wine, Boys.

Cas.

'Fore Heav'n, an excellent Song.

Jago.

I learn'd it in England: Where indeed they are most potent in Potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-belly'd Hollander,—drink ho—are nothing to your English.

Cas.

Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?

Jago.

Why, he drinks you with facility, your Dane dead Drunk. He swears not to overthrow your Almain. He gives your Hollander a Vomit, e'er the next Pottle can be fill'd.

Cas.

To the Health of our General.

Mon.

I am for it, Lieutenant: And I'll do you Justice.

Jago.
Oh sweet England.

King Stephen was and-a worthy Peer,
His Breeches cost him but a Crown,
He held them six Pence 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,
And take thy awl'd Cloak about thee.
Some Wine ho.

Cas.

Why this is a more exquisite Song than the other.

Jago.

Will you hear't again?

Cas.

No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his Place, that does those things. Well—Heav'n's above all; and there be Souls must be saved, and there be Souls must not be saved.

Jago.

It's true, good Lieutenant.

Cas.

For mine own part, no offence to the General, nor any Man of Quality; I hope to be saved.

Jago.

And so do I too, Lieutenant.

Cas.

Ay, but by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be saved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our Affairs. Forgive our Sins—Gentlemen, let's look to our Business. 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 speak well enough.

Gent.

Excellent well.

Cas.

Why very well then; you must not think then, that I am drunk.

Mon.

To the Platform, Masters, come, let's see the Watch.

Jago.
You see this Fellow that is gone before,
He is a Soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar,
And give direction. And do but see his Vice,
'Tis to his Virtues a just Equinox,
The one as long as th' other. 'Tis pity of him;
I fear the Trust Othello puts him in,
On some odd time of his Infirmity,
Will shake this Island.

Mon.
But is he often thus.

Jago.
'Tis evermore his Prologue to his Sleep.
He'll watch the Horologue a double Set,

If drink rock not his Cradle.

Mon.
It were well
The General were put in mind of it:
Perhaps he sees it not, or his good Nature
Prizes the Virtue that appears in Cassio,
And looks not on his Evils: Is not this true? Enter Rodorigo.

Jago.
How now, Rodorigo!
I pray you after the Lieutenant, go.

Mon.
And 'tis great pity that the Noble Moor
Should hazard such a place, as his own Second,
With one of an ingraft Infirmity;
It were an honest Action, to say so
To the Moor.

Jago.
Not I, for this fair Island;
I do love Cassio well, and would do much
To cure him of this Evil. But hark, what Noise? Enter Cassio pursuing Rodorigo.

Cas.
You Rogue! you Rascal!—

Mon.
What's the Matter, Lieutenant?

Cas.
A Knave teach me my Duty? I'll beat the
Knave into a Twiggen Bottle.

Rod.
Beat me—

Cas.
Dost thou prate, Rogue?

Mon.
Nay, good Lieutenant; [Staying him.
I pray you, Sir, hold your Hand.

Cas.
Let me go, Sir, or I'll knock you o'er the Mazzard.

Mon.
Come, come, you're drunk.

Cas.
Drunk?— [They fight.

Jago.
Away I say, go out and cry a Mutiny. [Exit Rodorigo.
Nay, good Lieutenant—Alas, Gentlemen—
Help ho!—Lieutenant—Sir Montano—
Help Masters! Here's a goodly Watch indeed—
Who's that which rings the Bell—Diablo, ho! [Bell rings.
The Town will rise. Fie, fie, Lieutenant!
You will be sham'd for ever. Enter Othello, and Attendants.

Oth.
What is the matter here?

Mon.
I bleed still, I am hurt, but not to th' Death.

Oth.
Hold for your Lives.

Jago.
Hold ho! Lieutenant—Sir—Montano—Gentlemen—
Have you forgot all place of Sense and Duty?
Hold. The General speaks to you—hold for shame—

Oth.
Why how now ho? From whence ariseth this?
Are we turn'd Turks? and to our selves do that
Which Heav'n hath forbid the Ottomites.
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous Brawl;
He that stirs next to carve for his own Rage,
Holds his Soul light: He dies upon his Motion.
Silence that dreadful Bell, it frights the Isle
From her propriety. What is the matter, Masters?
Honest Jago, that looks dead with grieving,
Speak: Who began this? On thy Love I charge thee?

Jago.
I do not know; Friends all, but now, even now
In Quarter, and in terms like Bride and Groom
Devesting them for Bed; and then, but now—
As if some Planet had unwitted Men,
Sword out, and tilting one at other's Breasts,
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds.
And would in Action glorious, I had lost
Those Legs that brought me to a part of it.

Oth.
How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?

Cas.
I pray you pardon me, I cannot speak.

Oth.
Worthy Montano, you were wont to be civil:
The gravity and stillness of your Youth,
The World hath noted. And your Name is great
In Mouths of wisest censure. What's the matter,
That you unlace your Reputation thus,
And spend your rich Opinion, for the Name
Of a Night-brawler? give me answer to it.

Mon.
Worthy Othello, I am hurt to Danger;
Your Officer, Jago, can inform you,
While I spare Speech, which something now offends me.
Of all that I do know, nor know I ought,
By me that's said or done amiss this Night,
Unless Self-charity be sometimes a Vice,
And to defend our selves it be a Sin,

When Violence assails us.

Oth.
Now, by Heav'n,
My Blood begins my safer Guides to rule,
And Passion, having my best Judgment choler'd,
Assays to lead the way. If I once stir,
Or do but lift this Arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my Rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul Rout began? Who set it on?
And he that is approv'd in this Offence,
Tho' he had twin'd with me, both at a Birth,
Shall loose me. What in a Town of War,
Yet wild, the Peoples Hearts brim-full of fear,
To manage private and domestick Quarrel?
In Night, and on the Court and Guard of safety?
'Tis monstrous. Jago, who began't?

Mon.
If partially affin'd, or league in Office,
Thou dost deliver more or less than Truth,
Thou art no Soldier.

Jago.
Touch me not so near;
I had rather have this Tongue cut from my Mouth,
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio.
Yet I perswade my self, to speak so the Truth
Shall nothing wrong him. This it is, General:
Montano and my self being in Speech,
There comes a Fellow, crying out for help,
And Cassio following him with determin'd Sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this Gentleman
Steps into Cassio, and intreats his pause;
My self the crying Fellow did pursue,
Lest by his Clamour, as it so fell out,
The Town might fall in fright. He, swift of Foot,
Out-ran my purpose: And I return'd the rather
For that I heard the clink, and fall of Swords,
And Cassio, high in Oath; which 'till to Night
I ne'er might say before. When I came back,
For this was brief, I found them close together
At blow, and thrust, even as again they were
When you your self did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report,
But Men are Men; the best sometimes forget;

Tho' Cassio did some some little wrong to him,
As Men in rage, strike those that wish them best,
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd
From him that fl d, some strange indignity,
Which Patience could not pass.

Oth.
I know, Jago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this Matter,
Making it light to Cassio: Cassio, I love thee,
But never more be Officer of mine. Enter Desdemona attended.
Look if my gentle Love be not rais'd up:
I'll make thee an Example.

Des.
What's the matter, Dear?

Oth.
All's well, Sweeting;
Come, away to Bed. Sir, for your hurts,
My self will be your Surgeon. Lead him off:
Jago, look with care about the Town,
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.
Come, Desdemona, 'tis the Soldiers Life,
To have their balmy Slumbers wak'd with Strife. [Exeunt. Manent Jago and Cassio.

Jago.
What, are you hurt, Lieutenant?

Cas.
Ay, past all Surgery.

Jago.
Marry, Heav'n forbid.

Cas.

Reputation, Reputation, Reputation! Oh I have lost my Reputation! I have lost the immortal part of my self, and what remains is bestial, My Reputation, Jago, my Reputation—

Jago.

As I am an honest Man, I had thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more Sense in that than in Reputation. Reputation is an idle, and most false Imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. You have lost no Reputation at all, unless you repute your self such a loser. What Man—there are more ways to recover the General again. You are but now cast in his Mood, a punishment more in Policy, than in Malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless Dog to affright an imperious Lion. Sue to him again, and he's yours.

Cas.

I will rather sue to be despis'd, than to deceive so good a Commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an Officer. Drunk? and speak, Parrot? And squabble? Swagger? Swear? And discourse Fustian with ones own Shadow? O thou invisible Spirit of Wine! if thou hast no Name to be known by, let us call thee Devil.

Jago.

What was he that you follow'd with your Sword? what had he done to you?

Cas.

I know not.

Jago.

Is't possible?

Cas.

I remember a Mass of things, but nothing distinctly: A Quarrel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that Men should put an Enemy in their Mouths, to steal away their Brains? That we should with joy, pleasance, revel and applause, transform our selves into Beasts.

Jago.

Why, but you are now well enough: How came you thus recover'd?

Cas.

It hath pleas'd the Devil, Drunkenness, to give place to the Devil, Wrath; one unperfectness shews me another, to make me frankly despise my self.

Jago.

Come, you are too severe a Moraller. As the Time, the Place, and the Condition of this Country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befaln: But since it is, as it is, mend it for your own Good.

Cas.

I will ask him for my Place again, he shall tell me, I am a Drunkard? Had I as many Mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible Man, by and by a Fool, and presently a Beast. Oh strange! Every inordinate Cup is unbless'd, and the Ingredient is a Devil.

Jago.

Come, come, good Wine is a good familiar Creature, if it be well us'd: Exclaim no more against it. And, good Lieutenant, I think, you think I love you.

Cas.

I have well approv'd it, Sir. I drunk!

Jago.

You, or any Man living, may be drunk at a time, Man. I tell you what you shall do: Our General's Wife is now the General. I may say so, in this respect, for that he hath devoted, and given up himself to the Contemplation,

mark, and Devotement of her Parts and Graces. Confess your self freely to her: Importune her help, to put you in your Place again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a Disposition, she holds it a Vice in her Goodness, not to do more than she is requested. This broken Joint between you and her Husband, intreat her to splinter. And my Fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your Love, shall grow stronger than it was before.

Cas.

You advise me well.

Jago.

I protest in the sincerity of Love, and honest Kindness.

Cas.

I think it freely: And betimes in the Morning, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my Fortunes if they check me.

Jago.

You are in the right: Good Night, Lieutenant, I must to the Watch.

Cas.
Good Night, honest Jago. [Exit Cassio.

Jago.
And what's he then, that says I play the Villain?
When this advice is free I give, and honest,
Probable to thinking, and indeed the course
To win the Moor again. For 'tis most easie,
Th' inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest Suit. She's fram'd as fruitful
As the free Elements. And then for her
To win the Moor, were't to renounce his Baptism,
All Seals and Symbols of redeemed Sin,
His Soul is so enfetter'd to her Love,
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her Appetite shall play the God
With his weak Function. How am I then a Villain,
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
Directly to his good? Divinity of Hell,
When Devils will their blackest Sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heav'nly Shews,
As I do now. For while this honest Fool
Plies Desdemona, to repair his Fortune,
And she for him, pleads strongly to the Moor,
I'll pour this Pestilence into his Ear:
That she repeals him, for her Body's Lust,

And by how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her Credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her Virtue into pitch,
And out of her own goodness make the Net,
That shall enmash them all.
How now, Rodorigo? Enter Rodorigo.

Rod.

I do follow here in the Chace, not like a Hound that hunts, but one that fills up the Cry. My Mony is almost spent; I have been to Night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the Issue will be, I shall have so much Experience for my Pains; and so with no Mony at all, and a little more Wit, return again to Venice.

Jago.
How poor are they that have not patience?
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Thou know'st we work by Wit, and not by Witchcraft;
And Wit depends on dilatory time:
Dost not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,
And thou by that small hurt hast cashier'd Cassio:
Tho' other things grow fair against the Sun,
Yet Fruits that blossom first, will first be ripe:
Content thy self a while. In troth 'tis Morning;
Pleasure and Action make the hours seem short.
Retire thee; go where thou art Billetted:
Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter:
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rodorigo.
Two things are to be done;
My Wife must move for Cassio to her Mistress:
I'll set her on my self a while, to draw the Moor apart,
And bring him jump, when he may Cassio find
Solliciting his Wife: Ay, that's the way:
Dull not Device, by coldness and delay. [Exit.