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I never did like moleftation view
Mont. If that the Turkish fleet
Be not infhelter'd and embay'd, they're drown'd;
Enter a third Gentleman.
3 Gent. News, Lords, our wars are done: The defperate tempeft hath fo bang'd the Turks, That their defignment halts. A noble fhip of Venice (14) Hath feen a grievous wreck and fufferance
On most part of the fleet.
Mont. How! is this true?
3 Gent. The fhip is here put in, A Veroneffa; Michael Cafio,
Lieutenant of the warlike Moor Othello,
Is come on fhore; the Moor himself's at feå,
Mont. I'm glad on't; 'tis a worthy Governor..
Mont. Pray heav'ns, he be:
Another Ship of Venice
Hath feen a grievous wreck, &c.] But no Ship, before this, has arrived, or brought any Account of the Turkish Fleet's Diftrefs: How then can this be called another Ship? Oh, but the eldest Quarto has called it fo; and, if there be a various Reading, Mr. Pope is pretty good at taking the wrong one. The two elder Folio's and the Quarto in 1630 read, as I have restored to the Text;
A noble Ship of Venice,
Ev'n till we make the main and th' aerial blue
Gent. Come, let's do so;
For every minute is expectancy
Caf. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike ifte,
For I have loft him on a dangerous fea.
Caf. His bark is ftoutly timber'd, and his pilot
Within.] A fail, a fail, a fait!
Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o'th' fea Stand ranks of people, and they cry, a Sail.
Caf. My hopes do fhape him for the Governor. Gent. They do difcharge their fhot of courtefy : Our friends, at least.
Caf. I pray you, Sir, go forth,
And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd.
Gent. I fhall.
Mont. But, good lieutenant, is your General wiv'd?
That paragons defcription and wild fame :
Does bear all excellency
How now? who has put in?
Gent. 'Tis one Iago, Ancient to the General. Caf. H'as had moft favourable and happy speed; Tempefts themselves, high feas, and howling winds; The gutter'd rocks, and congregated fands. (Traitors enfteep'd to clog the guitlefs keel;) As having fenfe of beauty, do omit
Their mortal natures, letting fafe go by
Mont. What is she?
Caf. She that I'fpake of, our great Captain's Captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago;
Whofe footing here anticipates our thoughts,
Enter Desdemona, Iago, Rodorigo, and Æmilia.
The riches of the fhip is come on shore:
Def. I thank you, valiant Caffio,
What tidings can you tell me of my Lord?
Gent. They give this greeting to the citadel:
Caf. See for the news:
Good ancient, you are welcome. Welcome, mistress.
Let it not gall your patience, good lago,
That I extend my manners. Tis my breeding,
lago. Sir, would fhe give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue the oft beftows on me,
You'd have enough.
Def. Alas! fhe has no fpeech.
Iago. In faith, too much;
I find it ftill, when I have lift to fleep;
Emil. You have little caufe to say so.
Iago. Come on, come on; you're pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds! Def. O, fy upon thee, flanderer!
Iago. Nay, it is true, or elfe I am a Turk; You rife to play, and go to bed to work. Emil. You fhall not write my praise.
Iago. No, let me not.
Def. What wouldft thou write of me, if thou shou❜dft praise me?
Iago. Oh gentle lady, do not put me to't, For I am nothing, if not critical.
Def. Come, one affay. There's one gone to the harbour
Iago. Ay, Madam.
Def. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by feeming otherwise ;Come, how wouldst thou praise me?
Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention comes from my pate, as birdlime does from freeze, it plucks out brains and all. But my mufe labours, and thus fhe is delivered.
If he be fair and wife, fairness and wit,"
The one's for ufe, the other ufeth it.
Def. Well prais'd; how if she be black and witty?
Iago. If he be black, and thereto have a wit,
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.
Def. Worfe and worse.
Emil. How, if fair and foolish?
Iago. She never yet was foolish, that was fair;
Def. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i'th' alehouse. What miferable praise haft thou for her that's foul and foolish?
Iago. There's none fo foul and foolish thereunto,
But does foul pranks, which fair and wife ones do.
Def. Oh heavy ignorance! thou praifeft the worft beft. But what praife couldft thou beftow on a deferving woman indeed? (14) one, that in the authority of her merit, did justly put down the vouch of very malice itfelf?
Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud,
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud;
She was a wight, (if ever fuch wight were) —
Def. To do what?
Iago. To fuckle fools, and chronicle fmall beer.
(14) One, that in the Authority of her Merit, did jufly put on the Vouch of very Malice itself.] Though all the printed Copies agree in this Reading, I cannot help fufpecting it. If the Text fhould be genuine, I confefs, it is above my Understanding. In what Senfe can Merit be faid to put on the Vouch of Malice? I fhould rather think, Merit was fo fafe in itself, as to repel and put off all that Malice and Envy could advance and affirm to its Prejudice. I have ventured to reform the Text to this Conftruction, by a very flight Change that makes it intelligible.