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Mon. I bleed ftill, 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 Senfe and Duty?
Hold. The General fpeaks to you-hold for fhame
Oth. Why how now ho? From whence arifeth this?
Are we turn'd Turks? and to our felves do that
Which Heav'n hath forbid the Ottomites.
For Chriftian fhame, put by this barbarous Brawl;
He that firs next to carve for his own Rage,
Holds his Soul light: He dies upon his Motion,
Silence that dreadful Bell, it frights the Ifle
From her propriety. What is the matter, Mafters?
Honeft 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 row
In Quarter, and in terms like Bride and Groom
Divefting them for Bed; and then, but now.

As if fome Pianet had unwitted Men,
Sword out, and tilting one at other's Breafts,
In oppofition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds.
And would in Action glorious, I had loft
Those Legs that brought me to a part of it.

Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?
Caf. I pray you pardon me, I cannot speak.
Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be civil:
The gravity and ftillnefs of your Youth,

The World hath noted. And
And your Name is great
In Mouths of wifeft cenfure. 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 fpare Speech, with fomething now offends me.
Of all that I do know, nor know I ought,

By me that's faid or done amifs this Night,
Unless Self-charity be fometimes a Vice,

And to defend our felves it be a Sin,
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When

When Violence affails us.

Oth. Now, by Heav'n,

My Blood begins my fafer Guides to rule,
And Paffion, having my best Judgment choler'd,
Aflays to lead the way. IfI once ftir,
Or do but lift this Arm, the beft of you
Shall fink in my Rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul Rout began? Who fet it on?
And he that is approv'd in his Offence,
Tho' he had twin'd with me, both at a Birth,
Shall loofe me. What in a Town of War,
Yet wild, the Peoples Hearts brim-full of fear,
To manage private and domeftick Quarrel?
In Night, and on the Court and Guard of fafety?
'Tis monftrous. Jago, who began't?

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

Jago. Touch me not fo near;

I had rather have this Tongue cut from my Mouth,
Than it should do offence to Michael Caffio.
Yet I perfwade my felf, to speak fo the Truth
Shall nothing wrong him. This it is, General:
Montano and my felf being in Speech,
There comes a Fellow, crying out for help,
And Caffio following him with determin'd Sword,
To execute upon him. Sir, this Gentleman
Steps into Caffio, and intreats his paufe ;

My felf the crying Fellow did pursue,
Left by his Clamour, as it fo fell out,

The Town might fall in fright. He, fwift of Foot,
Out-ran my purpose: And I return'd the rather
For that I heard the clink, and fall of Swords,
And Caffio high in Oath; which 'till to Night
I ne'er might fay before. When I came back,
For this was brief, I found them clofe together.
At blow, and thruft, even as again they were
When you your felf did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report,
But Men are Men; the best fometimes forget;

The'

Tho' Caffio did fome little wrong to him,

As Men in rage, strike those that with them beft,
Yet furely Caffio, I believe, receiv'd

From him that fled, fome ftrange indignity,
Which Patience could not pafs.

Oth. I know, Jazo,

Thy honefty and love doth mince this Matter,
Making it light to Caffio: Caffio, I love the,
But never more be Officer of mine.

Enter Defdemona attended.

Look if my gentle Love be not rais'd up:
I'll make thee an Example.

Def. What's the matter, Dear?

Oth. All's well, Sweeting;

Come, away to Bed. Sir, for your hurts,

My felf will be your Surgeon. Lead him off:
Jago, look with care about the Town,

And filence thofe whom this vile brawl diftracted.
Come, Desdemona, 'tis the Soldiers Life,

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To have their balmy Slumbers wak'd with Strife. [Exeunt.
Manent Jago and Calfio.
Jago. What, are you hurt, Lieutenant ?

Caf. Ay, paft all Surgery.

Jago. Marry, Heav'n forbid.

Caf. Reputation, Reputation, Reputation! Oh I have loft my Reputation! I have loft the immortal part of my felf, and what remains is beftial. My Reputation, Fago, my Reputation.

Jago. As I am an honeft Man, I had thought you had receiv'd fome bodily wound; there is more Senfe in that than in Reputation. Reputation is an idle, and moft falfe Impofition; oft got without merit, and loft without des ferving. You have loft no Reputation at all, unless you repute your felf fuch a lofer. What Manthere are more ways to recover the General again. You are but now caft in his Mood, a punishment more in Policy, than in Malice, even fo as one would beat his offencelets Dog to affright an imperious Lion, Sue to him again, and he's yourse

Caf

Caf. I will rather fue to be defpis'd, than to deceive fo good a Commander, with fo flight, fo drunken, and fo indifcreet an Officer. Drunk? and fpeak, Parrot? And fquabble? Swagger? Swear? And difcourfe Fuftian with ones own Shadow? O thou invifible Spirit of Wine! if thou haft 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?

Caf. I know not.

Jago. Is't poffible?

Caf. I remember a Mafs of things, but nothing diftin&tly: 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 felvcs into Beafts.

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

Caf. It bath pleas'd the Devil, Drunkenness, to give place to the Devil, Wrath; one unperfectnefs fhews me another, to make me frankly defpife my felf.

Jago. Come, you are too fevere a Moraller. As the Time, the Place, and the Condition of this Country ftands, I could heartily with this had not befaln: But fince it is, as it is, mend it for your own Good.

Caf. I will ask him for my Place again, he fhall tell me, I am a Drunkard? Had I as many Mouths as Hydra, fuch an answer would stop them all. To be now a fenfible Man, by and by a Fool, and prefently a Beast. Oh ftrange! 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.

Caf. 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 fay fo, in this refpec, for that he hath devoted, and given up himself to the Contemplation,

templation, mark, and Devotement of her Parts and Graces. Confefs your felf freely to her: Importune her help, to put you in your Place again. She is of fo free, fo kind, fo apt, fa bleffed a Difpofition, the holds it a Vice in her Goodness, not to do more than fhe is requested. This broken Joint between you and her Husband, intreat her to fplinter. And my Fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your Love, fhall grow ftronger than it was before,

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Caf. You advise me well.

Fago, I proteft in the fincerity of Love, and honeft Kindness.

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

Jaga. You are in the right: Good Night, Lieutenant, I

muft to the Watch.

Caf. Good Night, honeft Jago.
[Exit Caffio.
Jago. And what's he then, that fays I play the Villain?
When this advice is free I give, and honeft,
Probable to thinking, and indeed the course
To win the Moor again. For 'tis moft eafie,
Th' inclining Desdemona to fubdue

In any honeft Suit. She's fram'd as fruitful
As the free Elemenis. And then for her

To win the Moor, were't to renounce his Baptifm,

All Seals and Symbols of redeemed Sin,

His Soul is fo enfetter'd to her Love,

That fhe may make, unmake, do what the lift,

Even as her Appetite fhall play the God

With his weak Function. How am I then a Villain,
To counfel Caffio to this parallel course,

Directly to his good? Divinity of Hell,
When Devils will their blackest Sins put on,
They do fuggeft at firft with heav'nly Shews,
As I do now. For while this honest Fool
Plies Defdemona, to repair his Fortune,
And the for him, pleads ftrongly to the Moor,
I'll pour this Peftilence into his Ear:
That the repeals him, for her Body's Luft,

L14

And

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