For that I do fufpect the lufty Moor

Hath leapt into my Seat. The Thoughts whereof,
Doth, like a poisonous Mineral, gnaw my Inwards;
And nothing can, or fhall content my Soul
'Till I am even'd with him, Wife for Wile:
Or failing fo, yet that I put the Moor,
At least into a Jealoufie fo ftrong,

That Judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
If this poor Trash of Venice, whom I trace
For his quick hunting, ftand the putting un,
I'll have our Michael Caffio on the hip,
Abufe 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 Afs,

And practifing upon his peace and quiet,

Even to madness. 'Tis here

but yet confus'd, Knaveries plain Face, is never feen, 'till us'd. Enter Herald, with a Proclamation.

[Exit.

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 himfelf into Triumph. Some to dance, fome to make Bonefires, each Man to what Sport and Revels his addiction leads him. For befides this 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 Feafting, from this prefent hour of Five, 'till the Bell have toll'd eleven.

Bless the Isle of Cyprus, and our noble General Othello.

Exit.

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Caffio, and Attendants. Oth. Good Michael, look you to the Guard to Night. Let's teach our felves that honourable stop,

Not to out-fport Difcretion.

Caf. Jago hath direction what to do.

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

Oth. Jago is most honest:

Michael, good Night. To Morrow with your earliest,
Let me have fpeech with you. Come, my dear Love,

The

you.

[Exit.

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

Enter Jago.

Caf. Welcome, Fago: we muft to the Watch.

Jago. Not this hour, Lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten oth Clock. Our General caft 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 the is sport for Jove.

Caf. She's a moft exquifite Lady.

Jago. And I'll warrant her full of Game.

Caf. Indeed fhe's a molt fresh and delicate Creature.
Jago. What an Eye the has?

Methinks it founds a Parley to Provocation.

Caf. An inviting Eye;

Aud yet methinks right modeft.

Jago. And when the fpeaks, Is it not an Alarum to Love? Caf. She is indeed Perfection.

Jago. Well, Happiness to their Sheets: Come, Lieutenant, I have a ftoop of Wine, and here without are a brace of Cyprus Gallants, that would fain have a measure to the Health of black Othello.

Caf. Not to Night, good Jago: I have very poor and unhappy Brains for drinking. I could well with Courtefie would invent fome other custom of Entertainment.

Jago. 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 infortunate in the Infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.

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

Caf. Where are they?

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

Caf. I'll do't, but it diflikes me.

Fago. If I can faften but one Cup upon him,

[Exit Caffio.

With that which he hath drunk to Night already,

He'll be as full of Quarrel, and Offence,

As

As my young Mistress's Dog.

Now, my fick Fool, Rodorige,

Whom Love hath turn'd almoft the wrong fide out,
To Desdemona hath to Night carouz'd,
Potations, pottle-deep; and he's to watch.
Three elfe of Cyprus, Noble fwelling Spirits,
That hold their Honours in a wary diftance,
The very Elements of this warlike Ifle,
Have I to Night flufter'd with flowing Cups,
And they watch too. Now 'mongst this flock of Drunkards,
Am I to put our Caffio in fome Action

That may offend the Ifle. But here they come.
Enter Caffio, Montano, and Gentlemen:

If Confequence do but approve my Dream,

My Boat fails freely, both with Wind and Stream.

Caf. 'Fore Heav'n, they have given me a rowse already. Mon. Good faith a little one: Not paft a Pint, as I am a Soldier.

Jago. Some Wine ho!

And let me the Canakin clink, clink,

And let me the Cannakin clink.

[Jago fings.

A Soldier's a Man; Oh, Man's Life's but a Span,
Why then let a Soldier drink.

Some Wine, Boys.

Caf. 'Fore Heav'n, an excellent Song.

Fago. 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.

Caf. Is your Englishman fo exquifite in his drinking?

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

Caf. To the Health of our General.

Mon. I am for it, Lieutenant: And I'll do you Juftice.
Jago. Oh fweet England,

King Stephen was and-a worthy Peer,
His Breeches coft him but a Crown,
He held them fix Pence all too dear,
With that he call'd the Tailor Lown:

He

He was a Wight of high Renown,

And thou art but of bow degree:
'Tis Pride that pulls the Country down,
And take thy awl'd Cloak about thee.

Some Wine ho.

Caf. Why this is a more exquifite Song than the other.

Jago. Will you hear't again?

Caf. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his Place, that does those things. Well-Heaven's above all; and there be Souls that must be faved, and there be Souls must 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 saved.

Jago. 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 Sins---Gentlemen, let's look to our Bufinefs. 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 ftand well enough, and I speak well enough.

Gent. Excellent well.

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

Men. To the Platform, Mafters, come, let's fee the Watch.

Jago. You fee this Fellow that is gone before, He is a Soldier, fit to ftand by Cafar,

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 Ifland,

Mon. But is he often thus.

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

VOL. V.

LI

If

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?
Enter Rodorigo.

Jago. How now, Rodorigo!

I pray you after the Lieutenant, go.

Mont. And 'tis great pity that the Noble Moor
Should hazard fuch a place, as his own Second,
With one of an ingraft Infirmity;

It were an honeft Action, to say fo
To the Moor.

Jago. Not I, for this fair Island;

I do love Caffio well, and would do much

To cure him of this Evil. But hark, what Noife?
Enter Caffio pursuing Rodorigo.

Caf. You Rogue! you Rafcal!

Mon. What's the Matter, Lieutenant?

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

Rod. Beat me

Caf. Doft thou prate, Rogue?

Mon. Nay, good Lieutenant;

I pray you, Sir, hold your Hand.

[Staying him.

Caf. Let me go, Sir, or I'll know you o'cr the Mazzard.
Mon, Come, come, you're drunk.

Caf. Drunk?.

Jago. Away I fay, go out and cry a Mutiny.

Nay, good Lieutenant

[They fight.

[Exit Rodorigo.

Alas, Gentlemen

Help ho!-Lieutenant Sir Montano

Help Mafters! Here's a goodly Watch indeed
Who's that which rings the Bell

Diablo, ho!

[Bell rings.

The Town will rife. Fie, fie, Lieutenant!
You will be fham'd for ever.

Enter Othello, and Attendants.
Oth. What is the matter here ?

Mon