whofe folid virtue chance, Led. Is this the noble Moor, whom our full Senate Call all-in-all fufficient? this the Nature, Which paffion could not fhake? The fhot of accident, nor dart of Could neither graze, nor pierce? Iago. He is much chang'd. whofe folid virtue The foot of accident nor dart of chance Could neither graze nor pierce.] But 'tis no commendation to the moft folid virtue to be free from the attacks of fortune: but that it is fo impenetrable as to fuffer no impreffion. Now to graze fignifies, only to touch the Superficies of any thing. That is the attack of fortune: And by that virtue is try'd, but not difcredited. We ought certainly therefore to read, Can neither raze nor piece. i. e. neither lightly touch upon, nor pierce into. The ignorant tranfcribers being acquainted with the Phrafe of a bullet grazing, and hot being mentioned in the line before, they corrupted the true word. Befides, we do not fay, graze a thing; but graze on it. WARBURTON. I have ventured to attack another part of this fentence, which my ingenious friend flip'd over. I cannot fee, for my heart, the difference betwixt the fhot of accident and dart of chance. The words, and things, they imply, are purely fynonimous; but that the Poet intended two different things, feems plain from the difcretive adverb. Chance may afflict a man in fome circumftances; but other distresses are to be accounted for from a different cause. I am perfuaded, our author wrote; The foot of accident, nor dart of change, &c. And, in a number of other places, our Poet induftriously puts thefe two words in oppofition to each other. THEOBALD To graze is not merely to touch fuperficially, but to frike not directly, not fo as to bury the body of the thing ftriking in the matter ftruck. Theobald trifles as is ufual. Atcident and Chance may admit a fubtle diftinction; Accident may be confidered as the a, and Chance as the power or agency of Fortune; as, It was by chance that this accident befel me. At leaft, if we fuppofe all corrupt that is inaccurate, there will be no end of emendation. Lod. Lod. Are his wits fafe? is he not light of brain? Jago. He's what he is; I may not breathe my cen fure; What he might be, if what he might he is not, I would to heaven, he were! Lod. What, ftrike his wife! Iago. 'Faith, that was not fo well; yet 'would I knew, That stroke would prove the worst. Lod. Is it his ufe? Or did the letters work upon his blood, And new-create this fault? Iago. Alas, alas! It is not honefty in me to speak What I have feen and known. You fhall obferve him, And his own courfes will denote him fo, That I may fave my fpeech. Do but go after, Lod. I'm forry, that I am deceiv'd in him. [Exeunt. Changes to an Apartment in the Palace. Enter Othello and Emilia. Oib. YOU have feen nothing then? Emil. Nor ever heard, nor ever did fuf pect. Oth. Yes, you have feen Caffio and her together. Emil. But then I faw no harm; and then I heard Each fyllable, that breath made up between them. Oth. What? did they never whisper? Emil. Never, my Lord. Oth. Nor fend you out o' th' way? Emil. Never. Ff2 Oth. Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor Emil. Never, my Lord. Emil. I durft, my Lord, to wager fhe is honeft, Lay down my foul at stake: if you think other, Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom. If any wretch hath put this in your head, Let heaven requite it with the ferpent's curfe! For if fhe be not honeft, chafte and true, There's no man happy; the purest of their wives Is foul as flander. Oth. Bid her come hither, go. [Exit Emilia. She fays enough; yet she's a fimple bawd, That cannot fay as much. This is a fubtle whore, A closet lock and key of villainous fecrets; And yet fhe'll kneel, and pray. I've feen her do't. Def. My Lord, what is your will? Oth. Pray you, Chuck, come hither. Def. What is your pleasure? Oth. Let me fee your eyes. Look in my face. Def. What horrible fancy's this? Oth. [To Emilia.] Some of your function, mistress; Leave procreants alone, and shut the door, Cough, or cry, bem, if any body come. Your mystery, your mystery.Nay, difpatch. [Exit Æmilia. Def. Upon my knee, what doth your fpeech import? I understand a fury in your words, But not your words. 5 But not your words.] This line is added out of the firft ediSon. POPE. Oth. Oth. Why? what art thou? Def. Your wife, my Lord; your true and loyal wife. Oth. Come, fwear it; damn thyfelf; left, being like one Of heaven, the devils themfelves fhould fear to feize thee. Therefore be double-damn'd; fwear, thou art honeft. That thou art falfe as hell. Def. To whom, my Lord? With whom? How am I falfe? Oth. Ah, Desdemona! away, away, away Def. Alas, the heavy day! why do you weep? Am I the motive of these tears, my Lord? If, haply, you my father do fufpect An inftrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me; if you have loft him, Oth. Had it pleas'd heavens To try me with affliction, had they rain'd Giv❜n to captivity me and my utmost hopes; 6 But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, The fountain from the which my current runs, 6garner'd up my heart,] That is, treafured up; the garner Ff3 and the fountain are improperly conjoined. T To knot and gender in-7 Turn thy complexion there, Def. I hope, my noble Lord esteems me honest. Would, thou hadft ne'er been born! Def. Alas, what ignorant fin have I committed? Oth. Was this fair paper, this moft goodly book, Made to write whore upon? what, what committed? Committed?-oh, thou publick commoner! I fhould make very forges of my cheeks, That would to cynders burn up modefty, Did but I fpeak thy deeds. What, what committed? Heaven ftops the nofe at it, and the moon winks; The bawdy wind, that kiffes all it meets, Is hufh'd within the hollow mine of earth, And will not hear 't. What committed? - Impudent strumpet! Def. By heaven, you do me wrong. Def. No, as I am a chriftian. If to preferve this Veffel for my Lord Be not to be a ftrumpet, I am none. Def. No, as I fhall be faved. Def. Oh, heaven forgive us! Oth. I cry you mercy, then. I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 7-Turn thy complexion there, &c.] At fuch an object do thou, Patience, thy felf change colour; at this do thou, even thou, rafy cherub as thou art, lock grim as hell. The old editions and the new have it, I here look grim as hell. I was written for aye, and not fince corrected. SCENE |