That my Youth fuffer'd: My ftory being done,
She gave me for my Pains a world of Kiffes;
She fwore in faith, 'twas ftrange, 'twas paffing ftrange,
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful

She with'd he had not heard it,

yet the wish'd That Heav'n had made her fuch a Man -- fhe thank'd me, And bad me, if I had a Friend that lov'd her,

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I should but teach him how to tell my Story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I fpake,
She lov'd me for the Dangers I have past,
And I lov'd her, that he did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.
Here comes the Lady, let her witness it.

Enter Defdemona, Jago, and Attendants.
Duke. I think this Tale would win my Daughter too.
Good Brabantio, take up this mangled matter at the best;
Men do their broken Weapons rather ufe,

Than their bare Hands.

Bra. I pray you hear her speak;

If the confefs that fhe was half the Wooer,
Deftruction on my Head, if my bad blame
Light on the Man. Come hither, gentle Mistress,
Do you perceive, in all this noble Company,
Where most you owe Obedience ?

Def. My noble Father;

I do perceive here a divided Duty,

To you I am bound for Life, and Education :
My Life and Education both do learn me,
How to respect you. You are the Lord of Duty,
I am hitherto your Daughter. But here's my Husband,
And fo much Duty, as my Mother shew'd
To you, preferring you before her Father:
So much I challenge, that I may profess
Due to the Moor, my Lord.

Bra. God be with you: I have done.
Please it your Grace, on to the State Affairs;
I had rather to adopt a Child than get it.
Come hither, Moor.

I here do give thee that with all my Heart,
Which, but thou haft already, with all my Heart,
I would keep from thee. For your fake, Jewel,

I am glad at Soul, I have no other Child;
For thy escape would teach me Tyranny

To hang Clogs on them. I have done, my Lord.
Duke. Let me fpeak like your felf; and lay a Sentence,
Which, like a grife, or ftep, may help these Lovers.
When Remedies are paft, the Griefs are ended
By seeing the worft, which late on hopes depended.
To mourn a Mischief that is paft and gone,
Is the next way to draw new Mischief on.
What cannot be preferv'd when Fortune takes,
Patience her Injury a mockery makes.

The robb'd that smiles, fteals fomething from the Thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootlefs Grief.
Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile,
We lose it not fo long as we can smile;

He bears the Sentence well, that nothing bears,
But the free Comfort which from thence he hears.
But he hears both the Sentence, and the Sorrow,
That to pay Grief, muft of poor Patience borrow.
Thefe Sentences to Sugar, or to Gall,

Being ftrong on both fides, are equivocal.

But words are words; I never yet did hear,
That the bruiz'd Heart was pierced through the Ear.
I Humbly beseech you proceed to th'affairs of State.

Duke. The Turk, with a moft mighty preparation, makes for Cyprus: Othello, the Fortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a Subftitute of most allowed fufficiency; yet Opinion, a more Sovereign Miftrefs of Effects, throws a more fafe Voice on you; you must therefore be content to flubber the grofs of your new Fortunes, with this more ftubborn, and boisterous Expedition. Oth. The Tyrant Custom, moft grave Senators, Hath made the flinty and fteel Coach of War My thrice-driven bed of Down. I do agnize A natural and prompt Alacrity,

I find in hardnefs; and do undertake
This prefent War against the Ottomites.
Moft humbly therefore bending to your State,
I crave fit Difpofition for my Wife,
Due Reverence of Place and exhibition,
With fuch accommodation and befort,
VOL. V.

Kk

As levels with her breeding.

Duke. Why, at her Father's.
Bra. I will not have it fo.
Oth. Nor I.

Def. Nor would I there refide,
To put my Father in impatient Thoughts
By being in his Eye. Moft gracious Duke,
To my unfolding lend your profperous Ear,
And let me find a Character in your Voice
T'affift my fimpleness.

Duke. What would you, Desdemona ?

Def. That I did love the Moor to live with him,
My down-right Violence, and ftorm of Fortunes,
May trumpet to the World. My Heart's fubdu’d
Even to the very Quality of my Lord;
I faw Othello's Visage in his Mind,
And to his Honours and his valiant Parts,
Did I my Soul and Fortunes confecrate.
So that, dear Lords, if I be left behind
A Moth of Peace, and he go to the War,
The Rites for why I love him, are bereft me:
And I a heavy interim fhall support

By his dear Abfence. Let me go with him.

Oth. Your Voices, Lords; befeech you, let herWill
Have a free way.

Vouch with me Heav'n, I therefore beg it not
To please the Palate of my Appetite;

Nor to comply with Heat the young

affects

In my defunct, and proper Satisfaction;

But to be free, and bounteous to her Mind.
And Heav'n defend your good Souls, that you think
I will your ferious and great Bufinefs fcant
When the is with me-- No, when light-wing'd Toys
Of Feather'd Cupid, feel with wanton dulness
My fpeculative and offic'd Inftrument,

That my Difports corrupt and taint my Bufinefs;
Let Housewives make a Skillet of my Helm,
And all indign and bafe Adverfities,

Make head against my Eftimation.

Duke. Be it as you fhall privately determine, Either for her stay or going; th'Afair cries hafte;

And

And speed must answer it.

Sen. You must away to Night.

Oth. With all my Heart.

Duke. At nine i'th' Morning here we'll meet again.
Othello, leave fome Officer behind,

And he fhall our Commiffion bring to you;
And fuch things elfe of quality and respect
As doth import to you.

Oth. So please your Grace, my Ancient;
A Man he is of honesty and trust,
To his Conveyance I affign my Wife.

With what else needful, your good Grace shall think
To be fent after me.

Duke. Let it be fo;

Good Night to every one. And Noble Signior,
If Virtue no delighted Beauty lack,

Your Son-in-law is far more fair than black.

Sen. Adieu, brave Moor, ufe Desdemona well.
Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou haft Eyes to fee;
She has deceiv'd her Father, and may thee.
Oth. My Life upon her faith. Honeft Jago,
My Defdemona muft I leave to thee;
I prethee let thy Wife attend on her,
And bring them after in their beft Advantage.
Come, Desdemona, I have but an Hour
Of Love, of worldly matter, and direction

[Exit.

To fpeak with thee. We muft obey the time.

[Exit.

Rod. Fago.

Jago. What fayeft thou, noble Heart?

Rod. What will I do, thinkeft thou?

Jago. Why, go to bed and fleep.

Rod. I will incontinently drown my felf.

Jago. If thou doft, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou filly Gentleman!

Rod. It is fillinefs to live, when to live is a torment; and then have we a prescription to dye, when Death is our Phyfician.

Jago. Oh villanous! I have look'd upon the World for four times feven Years, and fince I could diftinguish betwixt a Benefit and an Injury, I never found Man that knew how to love himself. E'er I would fay, I would drown

Kk 2

my

my self for the love of a Guinney-Hen, I would change my Humanity with a Baboon.

Rod. What should I do, I confess it is my fhame to be fo fond, but it is not in my virtue to amend it.

Fago. Virtue? a Fig, 'tis in our felves that we are thus or thus. Our Bodies are our Gardens, to the which our Wills are Gardiners. So that if we will plant Nettles, or fow Lettice; fet Hyffop, and weed up Time; fupply it with one gender of Herbs, or distract it with many; either have it fteril with Idlenefs, or manured with Induftry, why the Power and corrigible Authority of this lyes in our Wills. If the Ballance of our Lives had not one fcale of Reason to poise another of Senfuality, the blood and bafenefs of our Natures would conduct us to moft prepofterous Conclufions. But we have Reafon, to cool our raging Motions, our carnal Stings, our unbitted Lufts; whereof I take this, that you call Love, to be a Sec, or Syen.

Rod. It cannot be.

Fago. It is meerly a Luft of the Blood, and a Permiffion of the Will. Come, be a Man: Drown thy felf? drown Cats and blind Puppies. I have profeft me thy Friend, and I confefs me knit to thy deferving, with Cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better fteed thee than now. Put Mony in thy Purfe; follow thou thefe Wars, defeat thy Favour, with an ufurped Beard; I fay, put Mony in thy Purfe. It cannot be long that Desdemona fhould continue her Love to the Moor. Put Mony in thy Purfenor he his to her. It was a violent Commencement in her, and thou shalt fee an answerable Sequeftration, but put Mony in thy Purfe. Thefe Moors are changeable in their Wills; fill thy Purse with Mony. The Food that to him, now, is as lufcious as Locufts, fhall to him fhortly be as bitter as Coloquintida. She muft change for Youth; when the is fated with his Body, fhe will find the Errors of her Choice. Therefore put Mony in thy Purfe. If thou wilt needs damn thy felf, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the Mony thou canft. If Sanctimony and a frail Vow betwixt an erring Barbarian and fuper-fubtle Venetian be not too hard for my Wits, and all the Tribe of Hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make Mony. A pox of drowning thy felf, it is clean out of the way. Seek thou rather

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