"Def. Alas! thrice gentle Caffio, My Advocation is not now in tune; My Lord, is not my Lord; nor fhould I know him, As I have spoken for you all my beft, And flood within the blank of his Displeasure, Than for my felf I dare. Let that fuffice you. Emil. He went hence but now; Jago. Can he be angry? I have feen the Cannon, Def. I prethee do fo. Something fure of State, Our other healthful Members, even to a fenfe But now I find, I had fuborn'd the Witness, Emil. Pray Heav'n it be State-matter's, as you think, and no Conception, Nor jealous Toy concerning you. Def. Alas-the-day, I never gave him Cause. Emil. But jealous Souls will not be anfwer'd fo; They are not ever jealous for the Caufe, [Exit. But But jealous, for they're jealous. It is a Monster Def. Heav'n keep the Monster from Othello's mind. Def. I will go feek him. Caffio, walk hereabout; And seek to effect it to my uttermoft. Bian. 'Save you, Friend Caffio. Indeed, fweet Love, I was coming to your Houfe. Caf. Pardon me, Bianca: I have this while with leaden thoughts been preft, Strike off this Score of Abfence. Sweet Bianca, [Exit. [Giving her Defdemona's Handkerchief. Take me this work out. Bian. On Caffio, whence came this? This is fome Token from a newer Friend; To the felt-abfence, now I feel a Caufe: Is't come to this? Well, well. Caf. Go to, Woman; Throw your vile gueffes in the Devil's Teeth, From whence you have them. You are jealous now Bian. Why, whofe is it? Caf. I know not neither; I found it in I like the work well; e'er it be demanded, Caf. I do attend here on the General, And And think it no Addition, nor my with Bian. Why, I pray you? Caf. Not that I love you not. Bian. But that you do not love me; Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumftanc'd.[Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Enter Othello, and Jago. Fago. Will you think fo? Oth. Think fo, Jago? Jago. What, to kifs in private? Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss? Jago. Or to be naked with her Friend in bed, An Hour or more, not meaning any harm? Och. Naked in bed, Jago, and not mean harm? It is Hypocrifie against the Devil: They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, The Devil their virtue temps, and they tempt Heav'n. Jago. If they do nothing, 'tis a venial flip: But if I give my Wife a Handkerchief Oth. What then? Jago. Why then, 'tis her's, my Lord, and being hers, She may, I think, beftow't on any Man. Oth. She is Prote&refs of her Honour too; May the give that? Fago. Her Honour is an Effence that's not seen, They have it very oft, that have it not. But for the Handkerchief Oth. By Heav'n I would moft gladly have forgot it; Thou Thou faidft, Oh, it comes o'er my Memory, Oth. That's not fo good now. Jage. What if I had faid, I had feen him do you wrong? Or heard him fay, as Knaves be fuch abroad, Who having by their own importunate fuit, Or voluntary dotage of fome Mistress, Convinced or supplied them, cannot chufe But they must blab. Oth. Hath he faid any thing? Jago. He hath, my Lord, but be you well affur'd, No more than he'll unfwear. Oth. What hath he faid? Jago. Why, that he did I know not what he didOth. What? what? Fago. Lye Oth. With her? Jago. With her? on her what you will Oth. Lye with her! lye on her! we fay, lye on her, when they be lye her. Lye with her! that's fulfom: Handkerchief Confeffons - Handkerchief to confefs, and be hang'd for his Labour--Firft, to be hang'd, and then to Confefs---I tremble at it--Nature would not inveft her felf in such shadowing Paffion, without fome inftru&tion. It is no words that thake me thus Ears and Lips- -is't poffible! O Devil pish ---- Nofes, Confefs! My Medicine works; thus credulous Fools are caught; 2 All guiltless meet reproach; what hoa! my Lord! How now, Ceffig? Enter Caffio. Caf. What's the matter! Jago. My Lord is faln into an Epilepfie, That is the fecond Fit; he had one Yesterday. Caf. Rub him about the Temples. Fago. Jago. The Lethargy muft have his quiet course; Do you He will recover ftraight; when he is gone, [Exit Caffic How is it, General? Have you not hurt your Head? Oth. Doft thou mock me? Jago. I mock you not, by Heav'n; Would you would bear your Fortune like a Man. Jago. There's many a Beaft then in a Populous City, And many a civil Monster. Oth. Did he confess it? Jago. Good Sir, be a Man: Think every bearded Fellow that's but yoak'd Which they dare fwear peculiar. Your caufe is better. your Grief And to fuppofe her chaft. No, let me know, Oth |