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For that I do fufpe& the lusty Moor
Enter Herald, with a Proclamation. Her. It is Otbello'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, fome to make Bone. fires, each Man to what Sport and Revels his addi&ion leads him. For besides this beneficial News, it is the Ceo lebration 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 tollid eleven. Bless the Isle of Cyprus, and out noble General Othello.
Caf: Jago hath dire&ion what to do.
Oth. Jago is most honest:
The Purchace made, the Fruits are to ensue,
Jago. Not this hour, Lieutenant: 'tis not yet ten oʻth
Caf. She's a most exquisite Lady,
Caf. An inviting Eye;
Fago. And when she speaks,
Car. She is indeed Perfection,
Caf. Not to Night, good Jago: I have very poor and unhappy Brains for drinking. I could well with Courtelie would invene some other custom of Entertainment.
Jago. Oh, they are our Friends: But one Cup I'll drick
Caf. I have drunk but one Cup to Night, and that was craftily qualified too: And behold what Ionovation it makes here. I am infortunate in the lofirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.
Jago. What, Min? 'tis a Night of Revels, the Gallants delire it.
Caf. Where are they?
As my young Mistress's Dog.
Enter Callio, Montano, and Gentlemen.
Caf. 'Fore Heav'n, they have given me a rowse already.
Mon. Good faith a little one: Not past a Pint, as I am a
Why then let a Soldier drink.
Caf. 'Fore Heav'n, an excellent Song.
Fago. 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---re nothing to your English
Caf. Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?
Fago. Why, he drinks you with facility, your Dane dead Drunk. He swears not to overthrough your Almain. He gives your Hollander a Vomit, e'er the next Pottle can be filld.
Car. To the Health of our General.
King Stephen was and-a worthy Peer,
He was a Wight of bigb Renown,
And take thy awld Cloake about thee.
Caf. Why this is a more exquisite Song than the other,
Fago. Will you hear't again?
Cal. 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 saved, and there be Souls must not be saved.
Fago. 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.
Fago. And so do I too, Lieutenant.
Caf. Ay, but by your leave, not before me. The Lieu. tenant 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 es nough, 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, Masters, come, let's see the Watch,
Jago. You see this Fellow that is gone before,
Mon. But is he ofcen thus,
Fago. 'Tis evermore his Prologue to his Sleep.
If drink rock not his Cradle.
Mont. It were well
Mont. And 'eis great pity that the Noble Moor
Jago. Nor I, for this fair Inland;
Enter Caffio pursuing Rodorigo.
Caf. A Knave teach me my Duty? I'll beat the
Rod. Beat med
[Staging him. I pray you, Sir, hold your Hand.
Caf. Let me go, Sir, or I'll know you o'ır the Mazzard.
[They fight. Jugo. Away I say, go out and cry a Mutiny.
[Exii Rodorigo. Nay, good Lieutenant
(Bell rings. The Town will rise. Fie, fie, Lieutenant ! You will be flam'd for ever,
Enter Othello, and Attendants,